

Enlisting Redemption

by

D. Allen Henry

© D. Allen Henry 2015

Smashwords Edition

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. This includes free copies, as Smashwords is utilized to track download totals. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

On the Cover

Public domain photo {{PD-USGov}} Photoshopped by the author

Also by D. Allen Henry

at

Smashwords.com

Hawk Banks

Those Who Fought for Us

Of War and Women

Finding Patience

My Father the God

Merging Destiny

Galileo's Lost Message

Dedication

To Laura...
Preface

The twentieth century was dominated by a succession of wars, two of which were on a global scale never before seen on this planet. As such, the effects of those wars profoundly influenced the course of history. I am speaking of course of The Great War (termed World War I in the United States), World War II, and to a lesser extent, The Vietnam War, and the Gulf Wars. Although much has been written about the history of these wars (especially the first two), much less has been written about the effect of these wars on the lives of those who lived (and died) through them.

_The Sutherland Saga_ consists of a sequence of six novels, each of which chronicles the lives of one generation of the fictitious Sutherland family, the patriarch being the Earl of Winston. Set against the backdrop of world-changing events of the twentieth century, the saga traces the travails of the Earls of Winston and their loved ones. Having been awarded the Earldom of Winston by King James the First, the ancestral home of the Sutherland family is located at Wharton Manor in Gloucestershire, England.

I have chosen each of the four wars mentioned above as the backdrop for one of the stories within The Sutherland Saga. Accordingly, the first book in the series depicts events during the era of World War I, whereas the second and fifth books span the period of World War II. The timing for the third book is during the Vietnam War, and the fourth and sixth in the series each span a twenty-five year period roughly corresponding to the Gulf Wars, thereby leading up to present day. As such, the plots are strongly connected to their associated wars and, although the storylines are intimately related to English culture, there is also a strong thread of both Scottish and American ancestry evident as the saga evolves.

The idea for the Sutherland Series was born from my own experiences, travels, loves, and losses, spanning a lifetime. While the stories themselves, including the primary characters, are entirely fictional, the places are not. In addition, I have, where appropriate, included historical figures who played significant roles in the events portrayed with the series. Indeed, I have attempted to portray both historical events and historical figures within the series as accurately as possible. Where I have erred, I offer my sincere apologies.

_Enlisting Redemption_ , the third in the series, depicts the lives of the Sutherland family spanning the era of the fourteenth Earldom of Winston, the backdrop for the events depicted herein being the period spanning the Vietnam War. As such, it may be read as a standalone novel, or it may be viewed as a sequel to _Of War and Women_ , the characters being related, but the plotlines independent. I hope that this account will provide an enlightening and enjoyable experience for you the reader.

D.A.H.
Preface to the Revised Edition

In this revised edition of _Enlisting Redemption_ I have made substantial modifications to the storyline. In addition, I have taken significant efforts to improve the literary style. I hope that you the reader will enjoy these improvements.

Preface to the Second Revision

Of all the novels within the Sutherland Saga, this one has been the toughest for me. Indeed, it has kept me sleepless many a night in quest of just the right blend of action, romance, and most of all, literary value. Perhaps it is because the story that unfolds herein is closest to my own journey through life, but whatever the cause, I eventually came back to it for yet another attempt, thereby resulting in this, the second revision. Hopefully it will be the last (and most satisfying), but who knows, it may yet result in another bought with insomnia. At any rate, here it is – my latest attempt to make this most challenging of all my offerings satisfying, at least to myself. I hope that you the reader will feel the same way upon arriving at the conclusion.

Figure Credits

Fig. 1 Map Showing Gloucestershire, graphic drawn by the author {{PD-dallenhenry}}

Author's Note Regarding Sectional Perspectives

The reader will notice that throughout the text I have delineated sections by the use of boldface titles. These titles normally describe the setting location and date for that section. However, when only a date is included, it is implied that the location for that section is identical to that of the previous section. Furthermore, each section begins with a few boldface words immediately after the section setting. The name of the first person included in boldface within the section is intended to be the person whose perspective is taken within that section of the text.
Author's Note about Language

One of the primary characters in this novel is a native of England. Accordingly, I have attempted to provide his use of English in a form that is at least somewhat congruent with that spoken in England. I have employed terms herein that are representative of the way that an English person might have spoken during the period of time spanned within this novel. Where I have done so, it is with the intention of either intensifying the plot or as a subtle reminder of the character's lineage. I have attempted to use these terms accurately based on my own research. Where I have erred, I apologize to those who take offense, and I sincerely hope that this will not detract from the story portrayed herein.
Chronology

**1615** – Alan Sutherland is appointed the first Earl of Winston by King James I of England.

**1883** – William Sutherland becomes the Twelfth Earl of Winston.

**1893** – Robert Sutherland is born in Gloucestershire, England.

**1895** – Margaret MacCreedy is born in Melbourne, Australia.

**1914** – The Great War begins.

**1917** – Trant Sutherland is born in London.

**1918** – The Great War ends.

**1919** – Robert Sutherland marries Margaret MacCreedy.

**1920** – Robert Sutherland becomes the thirteenth Earl of Winston on the death of his father, William Sutherland.

**1919** – Felicité Delacroix is born in Castiglion Fiorentino, Italy.

**1939-1945** – World War II.

**1946** – Trant Sutherland marries Felicité Delacroix.

**1947** – Trevor Sutherland is born in England to Trant and Felicité Sutherland.

**September 18, 1947** – The CIA is formed as an outgrowth of the Office of Strategic Services.

**1948** – Rebecca Carey is born in Danville, Virginia.

**January 1, 1959** – Fidel Castro and Che Guevara oust Cuba's president Fulgencio Batista, thereby winning the Cuban Revolution. Cuba becomes a socialist state.

**1959** – The USSR begins sending intelligence agents to Cuba.

**October, 1959** – Lee Harvey Oswald defects to the Soviet Union

**January 3, 1961** – The U.S. breaks off diplomatic relations with Cuba, initiating the Soviet military buildup in Cuba.

**January 20, 1961** – John F. Kennedy becomes the 35th President of the United States

**April 17, 1961** – Agents from the U.S. invade Cuba at the Bay of Pigs.

**October, 1962** – The Cuban Missile Crisis occurs.

**1963** – 1,500 Defense Intelligence agents from Cuba, including Che Guevara, receive intensive intelligence training in the USSR.

**September 28, 1963** – Lee Harvey Oswald visits the Cuban embassy in Mexico City seeking a travel visa.

**November 22, 1963** – President Kennedy is assassinated by Lee Harvey Oswald in Dallas, Texas.

**November 24, 1963** – Oswald is shot and killed by Jack Ruby.

**1965** – Trant Sutherland becomes the fourteenth Earl of Winston on the death of his father, Robert Sutherland.

**1965** – The United States enters the Vietnam War.

**November 6, 1965** – Cubans emigrate from Cuba to the U.S. in the first sanctioned airlift.

**October 9, 1967 –** Che Guevara is executed by the CIA in Bolivia after attempting to incite a revolution.

**1968** – The Vietnam War escalates.

**September, 1968** – Rebecca Carey and Trevor Sutherland meet in Charlottesville.

**January, 1973** – The U.S. pulls out of Vietnam.

Fig. 1 Map Showing Gloucestershire
Prologue

We all make mistakes in life, but admittedly, mine was a profound one. I'm not saying I haven't made others, but in my case there was one that still stands out after all these years. Frankly, it very nearly consumed me, but that was before I came to the realization that there is only one alternative to living with one's shortcomings. I eventually chose not to take that path, leaving only the other – learning to live with myself, however flawed an individual I observed whenever I gazed at myself in the mirror. And, having chosen my path, I determined that someday my own mirror might provide a view of the person within that could somehow command my own respect.

I was born in Gloucester, England. Gloucester was originally a Roman city, founded in the late first century, sometime after the Roman Emperor Claudius defeated the Celts and brought Britannica under Roman rule. Some say the city was originally named Glevum, but how this evolved into the modern rendition, like so many other of our modern terms, is obscured by the passage of time.

I grew up in Wharton Manor, in the Cotswolds, on the eastern border of Gloucestershire. A lovelier place than Gloucestershire you will never find on this great Earth. Although the area is certainly not the oldest settled part of England, Wharton Manor is nevertheless located in what is commonly referred to as the Old Shire, a term that is thus cultural rather than historical, in keeping with the custom of descriptive misnomers that are peculiar to nearly every human society.

The identifying geographical attribute of Gloucestershire is the River Severn. This great gash of intermittently navigable water runs right down to the sea, and as such, Gloucestershire has been subjected to conquest and warfare for as long as there has been recorded history. It was therefore inevitable that the Shire should fall at one time or another into the hands of Celts, Romans, Saxons, and Normans. And in the twentieth century, it was for a time in danger of falling into the hands of the Third Reich, along with the rest of Great Britain.

These then are the roots of my birthplace, a place of pride in its heritage, a heritage of constant change. I was born shortly after the Second World War, the greatest conflagration in recorded history, the grandson of an Earl who had fought in the Great War, and the son of an Earl who had fought in the Second World War. And while it is true that the wars ended before I came into the world, for the people of Gloucestershire, the memory of wartime remained a living and breathing image when I was young. Ultimately, the heritage of my upbringing is thus emblazoned with military conflict marked by failure, sadness, and still more sadness. And these are the underpinnings that shaped me as I grew into manhood in the 1960's in the Old Shire.

When I was ten, my mother took me on a lengthy trip to Verdun. Verdun was a battlefield in northern France during the Great War. It was ancient and decrepit, or so it seemed at the time to a boy of ten. Since, other than the eroding trenches, there wasn't much remaining of the battlefield to be seen there, I was uncertain as to exactly why we crossed the Channel and drove so far to see such a desolate place. My mother patiently explained to me in route that our sojourn was necessary because there was a lesson to be learned there.

I remember that we parked the car, my mother subsequently leading me to a large ceremonial building that seemed to be constructed from concrete. The structure was long and narrow, incongruously adorned with a tall spire in the middle. She halted adjacent to the building and announced, "My dear, this is the site of the greatest battle ever fought on this planet. Seven hundred thousand men died here in the year 1916." She then bent down and, pointing toward the small glass window panes at the base of the building, she explained to me, "Look into those windows there. That is in fact an ossuary, and if you look closely, you will see that it is filled with the remains of several hundred thousand humans."

I still recall staring into those windows with a macabre sense of fascination. The massive mound of bones in that tomb was beyond the capacity of a ten-year-old boy to comprehend. And today, thirty years on, my inability to grasp that humans could do such things to one another has abated not one iota.

I recall asking inanely, "I say, who won the battle?"

"Right. Neither side won," she responded succinctly.

Eyeing her doubtfully, I replied with self-assurance, "I thought there was _always_ a winner in war!"

"Nothing could be further from the truth," she patiently observed, that in and of itself apparently being some sort of profound truth.

"Then what indeed was the point, mother?" I asked. At the age of ten one is supposed to know these things, but I confess that I had always been confused about the Great War.

"Simple question, quite complicated answer," she replied. Smoothing her hair in apparent thought as she took my hand and commenced walking between the rows of white crosses that stretched as far as I could see, she observed dispassionately, "I suppose it was a misunderstanding. But what a misunderstanding it was."

"Which side won the war?" I asked. I had heard various answers to that question, thus I recall being terribly interested to obtain the 'correct' answer. You see, my mother always had the definitive answer to every question.

She replied despondently, "Although history records that the Allies won, I suppose that in reality it was all for naught."

This was not an acceptable answer to a boy of ten. Thus, I kept the pressure on, hounding her with, "Right. If neither side won, why did they cease fighting?"

"This is only my opinion, mind you," she began, to which I immediately perked up. Whenever my mother commenced by saying 'this is only my opinion', I understood that something important was coming next. Accordingly, I was all ears when she continued, explaining, "However, it seems to me that when the inexperienced are in decision-making positions, there will inevitably be vengeance. My son, _the singular antidote to vengeance is compassion._ "

This was another one of my mother's pronouncements that came across as rubbish to a ten-year-old child, but somehow, against all expectation, I still remember it verbatim, now more than thirty years on. But at that moment I recall needing still further clarification, thus I queried, "Right, so who was in the wrong?"

She replied succinctly, "Son, wars are often fought for the poorest of reasons. To say that one side was right and the other wrong would be a dramatic oversimplification. What I can say is this – the Great War was not in actuality won by either side, and when the supposed victors showed little compassion for the losing side, the stage was set for a second conflagration of even more monumental proportions. But when the Second World War ended, because of the failures after The Great War, it was understood that greater compassion should be shown to the losing side. And now, ten years on, that very compassion seems to have averted a third war of global proportions. And while it may seem self-evident that compassion is the proper treatment of those who have erred, it is rarely demonstrated at the conclusion of war. Indeed, the aftermath of the Second World War seems to be the first time in modern history that such compassion has been accorded to the losing side."

Now, more than thirty years having passed, I still remember that day as if it were yesterday. Still, I confess that it was necessary for me to live from that day to this, enduring much hardship and confusion, in order to fully understand the lesson that my mother taught me on that day. And ultimately, her words led me from the failures of my youth to the path of redemption. Thus here, without further delay, is my story, the story of my redemption.
Chapter 1

Reckless Youth

Charlottesville, Virginia - August, 1967

**Central Virginia lies within that jagged and timeworn wedge** of the Southeastern portion of the United States that, like an exit overlooked on the interstate highway, has gone unnoticed by much of our country. Located little more than a two-hour drive from the nation's capital, Charlottesville somehow seems to the observer to have halted and indeed even thrived eternally in the era of its illustrious forefather - Thomas Jefferson.

It snows there, sometimes in great hip-deep throngs that should know better than to find their way that far south. And the snow can further enhance the feeling of isolation in winter, but when the weather is kind to the inhabitants, Charlottesville is a well-hidden jewel that is uniformly treasured by a long line of inhabitants going all the way back to the days of the westward moving settlers at the dawn of the eighteenth century.

Each fall when the University of Virginia opens its doors, the citizens of Charlottesville are inundated by a new wave of college-bound students, but by contrast to many college towns, the locals actually welcome the students back with open arms. When the student body represents a significant portion of the local population, they are an essential part of your economy. Thus, when the students return, the city blooms with activity, as if it were a butterfly emerging from its cocoon. Several generations of Virginians have grown to adulthood in this small out-of-the-way throwback to another time. And many of these young adults have gone on to scintillating careers across the state and the nation.

Thus it was that Rebecca Carey arrived in late August for her sophomore year at UVa. Rebecca absolutely worshipped UVa and everything it stood for. Accordingly, she had spent her entire summer in Danville moping about, impatiently awaiting her return for her sophomore year.

Perhaps the single greatest source of Rebecca's dismay lay in the fact that she had never had a significant boyfriend, something that was unusual for a young lady about to turn twenty. "A sophomore in college should be worldlier," she thought to herself. But whenever she thought back with revulsion to the scant few opportunities she'd had to rectify her unfortunate situation, she had to admit that she was relieved that none of them had come to fruition. She wanted her first serious relationship to be special. She might be only nineteen, but she nevertheless understood that you only come through life one time. As such, she was determined to get it right the first time, because she understood full well that in life there is no second chance at a first chance.

Finances had been tough ever since the death of her father, but she had worked through high school, and the resulting savings, together with her mother's income, had been just enough for her to afford UVa. Thus, it was no stretch to say that she understood how fortunate she was to be studying at such a highly-regarded institution of higher education.

Having grown up further south in Danville, Rebecca didn't really care for the lengthy period of winter in Charlottesville, but it wasn't sufficient to detract from her affection for UVa. Most of all, she appreciated the freedom that college provided from her mother's vigilant eye. "There comes a time," she observed to herself, "When one should be afforded the opportunity to live one's own life."

Although Rebecca loved her older brother very much, he was often away at the school for the deaf. At twenty-one, James wasn't very happy with his new school. He had been such a happy child before they had sent him off to the school.

James wasn't terribly intelligent. Apparently, the umbilical cord had gotten wrapped around his neck when he had been born. The lack of oxygen, though brief, had caused some permanent brain damage. Still, it had not affected his joy with life, so much so that Rebecca had loved playing games with James when they were growing up. They used to sit for hours signing to one another, an ability that her mother had somehow never mastered.

Being away from her mother's claustrophobic ministrations was a liberating experience, and Rebecca intended to take full advantage of the opportunity despite the fact that she had not quite made the most of it in her first year of college. Still, she had three more years of college to affect her escape from her mother's intrusive power.

She had pledged Phi Delta that fall primarily in the hope that it would help her to meet more interesting people, perhaps even some interesting members of the opposite sex. Males were a great mystery to her, at least in part because her mom hadn't allowed her to date much before college. But now that she was in a sorority she hoped to begin to meet and get to know someone, perhaps even someone special, her fondest hope being that this might indeed be the year for it.

That Same Day

**Trevor Sutherland looked forward to his junior year** at UVa with great anticipation. Although he didn't let on to his friends, Trevor was the son of an Earl, the Earl of Winston to be exact. His father, Trant Sutherland, had been appointed the British Ambassador to the United States two years earlier, and Trevor had used his family's temporary relocation to the United States to convince his parents that it would be convenient for him to attend college near their new home in Washington, D.C.

Having spent much of his youth in London, Trevor didn't much care for the small town of Charlottesville, but he had developed friendships there, and - even better - he was in the fraternity that maintained the best connections with the sororities. Although Trevor enjoyed the companionship of the UVa coeds, he understood all too well that, as the son of an earl, his marriage prospects lay well in his future, across the Atlantic within the Commonwealth. Still, he felt that, this far from the prying eyes of British aristocracy, it was possible to sow some wild oats without reprisal.

The Following Day

**Bryan bounded up the stairs to the frat house** and, literally stumbling into two young men on entering, he exclaimed, "Good morning, Trevor, Miguel, sorry about that. Say, want to join me for a cup of joe at the coffeehouse?"

"No, sorry, Bry, would that I could," Trevor responded, "I have class – thermodynamics - if you must know."

At this Bryan put in facetiously, "You engineering nerds are all alike, always taking stuff no one else can even pronounce. Hey, before you cut out I've a question for you \- want to go to the mixer at the Phi Delta house on Friday night?"

"Why, I should be delighted at the prospect!" Trevor replied pleasantly, "By then I'm quite certain I shall be desperate for any sort of distraction from coursework."

"Yeah, and we're not even a week in!" Bryan observed paradoxically.

"My thought exactly," Trevor agreed and, turning to leave, he suggested, "My room, 6 P.M. Friday night?"

"You got it," Bryan quipped, and so saying, he and Miguel trotted off on their mutual quest for caffeine.

Bryan liked Trevor, but he always felt at a distinct disadvantage around him. The guy was far too smart, and still worse, he was easily the best-looking guy in the entire fraternity. And that obsequious English accent was just the topping on the cake, affording Trevor unfair advantage in Bryan's view. Being a reasonable sort, Bryan couldn't quite come to grips with why the saints in heaven would see their way to provide such a plethora of natural endowments in one male. Still, there was no getting around it, and Bryan was forced to accept it for what it was. After all, Trevor attracted coeds like flies, and Bryan saw opportunity in proximity to such a singularly unnatural phenomenon.

Friday Afternoon

**Vanessa Markham tousled her hair** in a vain attempt to dry her blonde tresses the easy way, but to no avail. Musing as she glanced in the mirror, she thought to herself how having such an abundant array of wildly disobedient blonde locks was a double-edged sword. They were like convicts, always attempting to escape and, despite failing, they nevertheless required constant supervision so as to avoid wreaking havoc. On the other hand, such an arsenal of weaponry was, as she herself was well aware, a distinct advantage on the battlefield that constituted any interaction with those darling but dangerous members of the opposite sex.

At the sound of a knock on her door, she called, "Come in!" and, seeing her friend Rebecca push her way within, she responded gaily, "Oh, hi Rebecca. Just trying to get my hair ready for the mixer this evening. What an unruly mess!"

"Pshaw!" Rebecca responded jealously, "What I wouldn't give for such a problem! But my parents' genes didn't include such a possibility, I'm afraid. Instead, I got this stringy brown hair."

"True, but you have your own share of attributes, Rebecca. The good lord spreads it around, you know. I'd trade a few with you if I could."

"Yeah, well, that's an exercise in futility," Rebecca responded with a snort, "Tell you what though, I'll just hang around you at the mixer tonight, and you can toss me one of your rejects. How about that, you hair goddess, you?"

At this suggestion Vanessa giggled so uncontrollably that Rebecca was induced to join in and, the pair embracing in anticipation, Vanessa retorted, "Yes of course, dear girl, but mind you, hands off my keepers!"

Just Down the Hall

**Sarah glanced at her watch** , anticipation forestalling her ability to concentrate on her studies. She fancied herself a scholar of sorts but, it being Friday, her mind strayed repeatedly to the upcoming mixer. She understood that, next to many of her sorority sisters she was what was considered a 'wallflower', whatever that really meant. Still, she understood well enough that looks were not the only ingredient in physical attraction, thereby giving her hope that she might one day outshine a sufficient portion of her competitors to actually attract an acceptable member of the opposite sex. Anticipating that at that point she would be flying blind, she decided to stay close to her friends Rebecca and Vanessa, both of whom seemed to be far more appealing to the opposite sex.

Pushing these distracting thoughts away, she reluctantly returned to her studies, in the process mumbling to herself, "All in good time, Sarah Johnson, you irrepressible twit, you. All in good time."

That Evening

**Trevor, Bryan and Miguel arrived** at the Phi Delta House and, wending their way amongst the throng of overly enthusiastic young men, they searched out the optimum location from whence they could assess the proceedings. Within minutes it was apparent to all three that in such a swarming and boisterous multitude there was little possibility of such. Instead, they settled on a spot in the sorority house dining room where there were at least ample supplies of drinks and hors d'oeuvres.

Alcoholic beverages being prohibited on campus, drinks were limited to soda pop and punch. However, in keeping with the nefarious nature of youth, someone had seen fit to spike the punch bowl with Southern Comfort, thereby ensuring that the melee would only amplify as the evening progressed.

For his part, Trevor could not for the life of himself understand why on earth American students had a penchant for such sickeningly sweet whiskey, but he reasoned to himself that under the circumstances he was not at the moment in a position to bear qualms. Accordingly, he settled in as closely as possible to the punch bowl and, appropriating himself a cup of much-needed elixir, he simply observed the unfolding cacophony in introspective silence.

Trevor suddenly announced sonorously, "Sooo, Bryan, I'd say hunting season is open, and I for one confess to having awaited this moment ever since the close of the spring semester."

"It certainly appears that way," Bryan put in amiably, "Although one cannot avoid the feeling of being a needle in a haystack."

"How so?" Trevor inquired vacuously.

"There must be ten guys for every female in this house," Bryan observed, adding facetiously, "Those odds wouldn't even warrant a two-dollar bet in Las Vegas."

"Ah," Trevor responded and, as if he hadn't even noticed the extraordinary imbalance, he shrugged it off with, "One must start somewhere, I suppose."

Resigned to the likelihood of making an early departure after a couple of drinks, Bryan and Miguel were within minutes surprised to see Trevor engaged in conversation with no less than three quite attractive coeds. Despite having observed such success before, Bryan was nonetheless astounded. Trevor possessed the propensity to do nothing more than stand motionless in the middle of a crowded room and the distribution of females within earshot would invariably be seen to gradually converge uniquely upon him. Being no fool, Bryan camped as close as possible to tonight's inexorably contracting vortex.

He immediately overheard an extremely striking coed inquired offhandedly, "Where exactly did you say you're from?"

Trevor responded genially, "Gloucestershire, in the west of England, Miss, er..."

"Vanessa...Vanessa Markham," she replied and, her eyes flashing invitingly, she offered him her hand.

"I say, it is indeed a pleasure to meet you, Miss Markham," he retorted, "Trevor Sutherland at your service."

Apparently taken by his accent, she inquired breathlessly, "What brings you to the United States, Trevor? May I call you Trevor?"

"Of course you may, Vanessa. And to answer your question, my father is in the diplomatic service, in Washington. So you see, it seemed the convenient thing to do. This way, I can be near my family, and at the same time learn more about colonial life here in America."

At this, an escaping giggle causing her abundant hair to bob enticingly, she proffered, "So I take it we 'colonists' are your subjects?"

Obviously taken with her feisty disposition, he replied tongue-in-cheek, "Rumor has it that your forebears attempted an escape from the Commonwealth some years back, but surely the colonial experiment shall fail before too much longer."

"Ha!" she cackled, "Well, then, Mr. Trevor Sutherland, member of the English aristocracy, in the meantime we 'colonists' shall try to make you welcome here in the hinterlands!"

"My dear Miss Markham, I most certainly am _not_ a member of the English peerage," Trevor fibbed, "But I would nonetheless be honored to avail myself of your considerate gentility."

At this, the young lady adjacent to Vanessa howled in obvious hilarity, "My goodness, I have no earthly idea what he's saying half the time, Vanessa, but isn't his accent just too delicious!"

Turning towards her friend, Vanessa winked and uttered, "Yes, Rebecca. I don't think I've encountered anything quite like it!" And, observing Trevor's puzzled reaction, Vanessa curtsied absurdly and announced with pretended extravagance, "Oh, sorry, _Lord Sutherland_ , I am remiss. These are my friends, Rebecca and Sarah. Rebecca Carey of Danville, and Sarah Johnson of Fredericksburg, meet Mr. Trevor Sutherland, some sort of big mucky-muck from Glowering-Chester, England."

Smiling patiently at Vanessa's most assuredly purposeful misstep, Trevor reached for Rebecca's hand and proffered politely, "So nice to meet you, Miss Carey."

"Goodness, I've never met a duke before," Rebecca responded in feigned veneration and, taking his hand, she curtsied ostentatiously.

"Me either!" Sarah interjected excitedly.

Trevor, who had long since become accustomed to such disingenuous behavior, simply arched one eyebrow pleasantly, took Sarah's hand within his own, and announced in mock arrogance, "At your service, to be sure, Miss Johnson."

Having thus far taken in the unfolding scene in silence, Bryan interjected in contrived irritation to no one in particular, "He always has that effect on women."

Seemingly spying Bryan for the first time, Vanessa queried disdainfully, "And who, may I ask, are you?"

"Oh, pay no attention to me," Bryan murmured in affected desolation, "I'm simply auditing."

"Auditing? Auditing what, may I ask?" Rebecca interjected suspiciously.

"Why, it's a graduate level course on British conceit," Bryan volunteered facetiously.

At this Rebecca squinted at him and announced with contrived suspicion, "I see, it appears that you, sir, are a huckster, and of the worst sort!"

"What sort might that be?" Bryan frowned in confusion.

"Why, the jealous sort, of course," Rebecca opined sagaciously, at which Sarah burst into uncontrollable giggles.

Attempting to save the moment, Trevor announced, "Bryan is my fraternity brother. As such, he has been highly trained to make me look impressive to you ladies," at which Bryan beamed incongruously in self-importance, as if he had just been knighted by the Queen herself.

Taking up the gauntlet at this, Vanessa put in with contrived sarcasm, "And me thinking he must be your personal valet!"

Bryan, obviously deflated by such a cutting remark, responded in like kind, "Better an English valet than a colonial commoner!" At which all six broke into uncontrollable giggles.

Their infectious good humor having by now reached distracting proportions to others within the room, Trevor suddenly suggested, "I say, dear ladies, I find this line of discussion quite intoxicating, so much so that I am inclined to speculate – might the three of you be persuaded to step outside with we three anglers, perhaps wending our way thenceforth to a local constabulary for the purpose of further exploring international relations?"

"Anglers?" Rebecca blurted in all-too-obvious suspicion.

"Right," Trevor stammered, "I simply meant that we are _angling_ for further discourse with the three of you, given your obviously superior senses of humor."

"Ah, I see," Rebecca posited, "You English sometimes have a funny way with words."

"Apologies," Trevor responded, "I meant no injustice, I assure you, Miss Carey."

The young ladies breaking into further giggles at Trevor's strange vocabulary, Rebecca eyed him as she whispered in her companions' ears, thereby inducing Vanessa to exclaim, "How could we 'commoners' refuse such a polite invitation by such a well-healed gentleman? Lead on, MacDuff!"

"Lay on," Rebecca corrected.

"What?" Vanessa quipped vacuously.

"Oh, nothing," Rebecca responded in embarrassment.

"I say," Trevor now put in admiringly, "That is quite excellent, Miss Carey. How do you come to know our Mr. Shakespeare?"

For her part, Rebecca simply glanced at him and, apparently attempting to avoid rancor, she responded, "Yes, well, what say we get out of here?" at which the five made a hasty departure.

Jefferson's Tavern - An Hour Later

**Having by this time imbibed perhaps one beer too many, Rebecca eyed** the group arrayed before her. She found Bryan to be foolishly arrogant, whereas Miguel hardly spoke a word. As for Trevor, she simply couldn't figure him out. His light-hearted banter never seemed to cross over to the serious side, thereby necessitating her to reserve judgment. Still, she found herself forced to admit that he was quite inviting to look at.

Deciding to make a diversionary move, she inquired, "So, Miguel, I've barely heard a word from you throughout all of this banter. I sense that you may not be American born. Tell me about yourself."

At this Miguel arched one eyebrow, studied her a moment, and posited, "Why, I am indeed an American."

"Oh, I'm sorry," she responded, "I thought I detected a Hispanic accent."

"Actually, you did," he responded, "I was born in the Americas, in Argentina to be exact. My parents immigrated here in 1959."

"Ah, now I see!" she replied, "So you're a naturalized citizen!"

"Well, not exactly," he replied, "Not yet, anyway. I am a permanent resident, and when I turn twenty-one I will be eligible for citizenship."

"Where does your family live?"

"Oh, we live in Florida, in Miami," he responded guardedly.

"Wow!" Rebecca exclaimed, "I've never been to Miami. I hear it's different!"

"Yes," he submitted, "I like it quite a lot. It doesn't get cold like it does here in Charlottesville."

"Yeah, that may be," Vanessa put in, "But I love the winter!"

Attentions now turning elsewhere, Rebecca inquired, "So, Bryan, where are you from?"

"I'm from Virginia Beach," Bryan posited pleasantly.

At this Sarah said, "I'm from Norfolk, Bryan. So we're practically neighbors."

At this Vanessa suggested, "I'll bet you both grew up on the beach!"

"Yeah," Bryan agreed, "How about you, Vanessa? Where are you from?"

"Oh, I'm from Christiansburg, in the Blue Ridge. No beaches there!"

"My goodness," Bryan observed, "I hear it's quite cold there in winter."

"You got that right," she agreed, "Compared to Christiansburg, Charlottesville is a cakewalk."

At this Trevor blurted, "What the heck is a cakewalk?"

"Ha!" Rebecca put in gleefully, "The Queen's English doesn't work on this side of the water, does it, Lord Sutherland!"

Uncertain as to whether he was being insulted, Trevor responded courteously, "Well, er, I'd still like to know what a cakewalk is..."

At this Rebecca stifled a grin and responded, "Oh, sorry. It's just a kid's game, a quite fun one at that! And the winner gets a cake!"

"Ah," Trevor murmured in confusion, "I see, at least I think I do."

Impressed with the way he had politely parried her jab, Rebecca decided at this that Trevor was perhaps not so bad after all. Accordingly, she posited, "We should all do this again sometime. It's been fun," thereby signaling that it was time to call it a night.

"Yes, I couldn't agree more," Bryan agreed.

"Me, too," Sarah put in.

For her part, Vanessa simply stared obsessively at Trevor, but, having missed her oblique pass, Trevor rose from his seat and announced, "I'm sure Bryan can be counted on to organize another outing," at which the group arose and dispersed for the evening.

Two Days Later

**Bryan tapped on the door** and, at a sound from within, he entered and exclaimed, "How are you, Trevor? Recovered yet from Friday night?"

"Certainly," Trevor replied pleasantly, "We did have a fine old time, did we not!"

Bryan observed, "Beyond all expectations," adding wistfully, "I confess, I didn't see that one coming at all. We seem to have started the year off on the right foot."

"My thoughts as well," Trevor volunteered.

"Sooo," Bryan stammered and, getting to the point somewhat circuitously, he inquired, "Any thoughts?"

"Thoughts? What sort of thoughts?" Trevor responded blankly.

"Well, er...what I mean is, did you fancy any one of them?"

Eyeing Bryan distractedly, Trevor mumbled, "Hmmm, I suppose I hadn't really thought about it, if you must know, Bry."

"You're kidding!" Bryan quipped in amazement.

"I'm sure I've no idea to what you are referring," Trevor retorted vacuously.

"Oh, good grief," Bryan responded, "You can be so exasperating, Trevor!"

"What? Why ever for?"

"You just take everything for granted. Young ladies like those three don't grow on trees, you know."

At this Trevor responded vacuously, "Oh? Now that you mention it, I hadn't noticed any within the trees. What exactly are you getting at?"

"What I'm getting at is this – I'd like to ask one of them out," Bryan responded in exasperation.

"Oh, I say, good show!" Trevor replied distantly.

"Well?"

"Well, what?" Trevor frowned in confusion.

" _Which one of them do you fancy_ , Trevor?"

"I'm confused," Trevor responded vacantly, "Did you not already ask me that question?"

"See here," Bryan explained, "I've no idea how things are done in your country, but in the United States, a gentleman does not trod on his friend's turf."

"Oh, I see now," Trevor replied, "You want to make sure we don't compete with one another!"

"Right!" Bryan blurted.

"Well then, by all means – ask her out," Trevor suggested.

"What! Ask _who_ out?" Bryan queried in irritation.

"Why, Rebecca, of course," Trevor observed.

"What! Why Rebecca?"

"I should think because she's the one who captured your attention, of course," Trevor supplied matter-of-factly.

"How do you know that?" Bryan inquired, one eyebrow arching in amazement.

"Why, anyone could see it, I should think. Besides, I've already asked Vanessa out for this Friday," Trevor declared.

At this Bryan exclaimed in obvious irritation, "You can be so exasperating, Trevor."

At this Trevor responded indifferently. "Right, but all's well that ends well, I should think."

A Few Days Later

**Rebecca poked her head within Vanessa's room** and, observing that she didn't appear to be busy, she inquired pleasantly, "Hey, Vanessa, how is it going?"

"Oh, fine, and you?" Vanessa responded distantly.

"Okay, I guess," Rebecca murmured, "Got a sec to chat?"

Sensing that Rebecca had something on her mind, Vanessa nodded pleasantly, "Sure. Have a seat."

Taking a spot on the bed's end, Rebecca observed, "I had a date with Bryan last weekend."

"Oh, good for you! How'd it go?"

"Alright, I suppose," Rebecca prevaricated.

"That doesn't sound very upbeat," Vanessa replied suspiciously, "C'mon, girl, give over. What happened?"

"Oh, he was nice. I like him just fine, but I'm afraid I'm really not interested in him."

"What makes you say that, Rebecca?"

"Oh, I don't know. Frankly, I'm not sure I know anything at all. But, if I'm not mistaken, attraction is a necessary part of courtship."

Eyes focusing upward in apparent contemplation, Vanessa murmured, "Hmmm. Yes, I think I agree. I am terribly attracted to Trevor. So yes, I agree, definitely."

Scrutinizing Vanessa with sudden interest, Rebecca inquired, "Did you go out with him?"

"Yes, of course I did," Vanessa replied with palpable superiority.

"Oh," Rebecca murmured distantly, "How was it?"

"Peachy, just peachy," Vanessa responded evasively.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Look," Vanessa responded facetiously, "Guys like that are all way up on the top end of the scale, you know."

"Actually, no, I don't know," Rebecca observed, "I've never had a date with a guy like that."

"Well, perhaps in some ways you're lucky," Vanessa observed condescendingly.

"How so?"

"Listen, ever been fishing?"

"Of course, folks down in Danville all fish," Rebecca responded, "What's that got to do with it?"

"My dear Rebecca, dating is like fishing. You throw out a line, and then you resolve to wait, most times interminably. Eventually, on rare occasions, you get a bite if you are lucky. So you real in that fish, and guess what – nine out of ten times you catch a tiny little minnow. But if you stick with it, one day you finally snag a whopper. At first you're feeling lucky, until that fish gives you the fight of your life. And by the time you get it into the boat, you're so exhausted that half of you wants to throw it back."

Rebecca eyed her a moment, then proffered, "So you're saying Trevor is a whopper."

"Bingo!" Vanessa quipped knowingly.

"Well, I've never even seen a whopper before," Rebecca observed, "But from where I stand, Trevor Sutherland is no whopper. Still, I rather believe I'd at least like to experience hooking into a whopper at least once in my lifetime."

"Well, then, keep fishing," Vanessa suggested, "In the meantime, I have a whopper on my line, and he isn't anywhere _near_ being yanked into the boat. So stay posted and watch my back, because this could be a tough battle."

"Done," Rebecca responded, "And, just so you will know, you can count on me to watch your back. After all, it might be quite a show!"

"Thanks," Vanessa replied, "Now, back to my point. Just because Bryan is a minnow in your eyes, it doesn't mean he isn't worth netting."

Eyeing her for a moment, Rebecca blurted, "Well, perhaps you are right, but I just don't see it. I mean, if attraction isn't there from the get go, then I don't see how it can ever magically materialize."

"Well, you may be right, but I suspect that your hypothesis can only be tested experimentally," Vanessa volunteered.

"Spoken like a true psychology major," Rebecca grinned in tacit concurrence.

The Following Day

**Trevor stopped by the coffee shop** on his way to the frat house and, spotting Bryan in one corner, he purchased a cup and sauntered over. Arriving tableside, he inquired, "Hey Bryan, is there room for me within your zone of solitude?"

Glancing up from the book he was reading, Bryan responded sullenly, "Oh, hi, Trevor. Sorry, I didn't see you," and pointing to a seat, he added, "Sure, have a seat."

Sensing something was amiss, Trevor inquired, "Why so glum?"

"What? Oh, it's nothing. I'm fine," Bryan hedged defensively.

"Oh, surely friends such as we aren't going to hold back on one another, Bryan."

"Right," Bryan responded sheepishly, "Well, I suppose you're right. It's just that, well, I suppose I got dumped by Rebecca."

"Oh, I say, that's too bad, old chap," Trevor responded, "What happened?"

"Yes, well, here's the thing, Trevor. I was quite taken with Rebecca, I mean _quite_ taken. She is just lovely, if you ask me."

"Yes, I can see how you would think that," Trevor empathized, "And?"

"And, well, we had a very nice time. I took her to a fancy restaurant and we laughed and joked, and she...well...by the end of the evening, I confess she had me in the palm of her hand," at which point he gazed sadly downward and added morosely, "So when we got back to her dorm, she allowed me to kiss her. At that point I asked her if she would be willing to go out with me again, and I guess I must have gone too fast."

"How so?"

"She was really nice about it, you know, but she said no, that she didn't think we were suited for one another. I'm not sure what I did wrong, but I must have gone too fast."

"I doubt that," Trevor replied matter-of-factly.

"What? Why do you say that?"

"Listen, Bryan, if things are headed in the proper direction, tiny improprieties do not lead to such gut-wrenching revelations."

"I'm afraid I don't understand."

"Let me put it this way, Bryan. You should feel gratitude to her for being direct and honest with you."

"Why do you say that?"

"My experience suggests that oftentimes people do not possess the place of mind to be both honest and gentle with potential suitors. Rebecca seems to have been both, so in my view you were indeed fortunate."

"When you put it that way, perhaps I was. But what you've said just makes me all the more taken with her, considering that her treatment of me was apparently quite unusual."

"Point taken, but I should think it would be much better if one were informed of such adversities early on," Trevor sympathized.

"Yes, yes of course," Bryan mumbled and, pushing a stray strand of hair back, he murmured, "But I seriously doubt if one such as you could know exactly how rejection feels, Trevor."

Well aware of Bryan's implication, Trevor responded, "Perhaps. Perhaps so, but surely it must be like going into battle. One takes some bumps, some bruises, and perhaps on occasion even a serious wounding. But, in the end, the watchword is _survival_. And each of those bumps and bruises better prepares one to stave off that death-dealing blow."

"I understand," Bryan replied pensively, "In which case, I'm headed for survival, because I have sustained quite a few bumps, bruises, and even a fair number of wounds."

At this, aware that the tension had been deflected, Trevor grinned and responded, "Well, then, shall we drink to that, my friend?"

Now showing signs of rejuvenation, Bryan replied, "Yes, of course."

Clinking their coffee mugs together, the pair agreed in unison, "To survival."

Sensing their exchange had now reached its conclusion, Trevor volunteered, "The game is up with her, as they say, old chap. Time to move on. There's plenty of more fish in the ocean, as I'm sure you know full well."

"Yeah, well, let me know if you come upon another one like her who fails to measure up for you, because at this point I am only partly battle-tested, and in desperate need of further engagements."

"I say, well said," Trevor rejoined, at which the pair rose and made their departure.

Early October

**Trevor kept coming back to the conversation** he had shared with Bryan a month earlier. Whereas he had initially paid attention to Vanessa at the sorority party, ever since Bryan had been turned down for a second date by Rebecca, Trevor had been unable to shake her from his mind. He eventually realized that his own words might indeed be true, and if so, Rebecca Carey just might be a rare person indeed. As a result, the next time he found himself in an emboldened frame of mind, he telephoned her on the spur of the moment. Finding her approachable, he inquired whether she might be interested in having dinner with him. As she was indeed receptive, he arranged to take her out for dinner the following weekend.

On Friday evening he arrived at the sorority house decked out in his best sport coat, and observing her coming down the sweeping staircase to the lobby within, he realized that she was even lovelier than he had remembered. Noticing the understated elegance of her black dress, he offered, "Good evening, Miss Carey," and, eyeing her nervously, he added, "May I say, you look quite lovely tonight."

"Thank you," she replied pleasantly.

"I say, am I quite late?"

"Nope, right on time," she responded and, taking his arm within her hand, she inquired politely, "Where to?"

"Might you be familiar with a restaurant called The Courthouse? Tis south of town, heading towards Roanoke."

"No, I don't get out much. Eating out is a luxury that I normally have neither time nor money to indulge in."

"Right then, as it turns out, it is seafood. Does that meet your approval?"

"Sure," she responded politely, "I like seafood."

"Excellent! I do believe that you shall enjoy this particular restaurant," he responded pleasantly.

With the ice broken, they made their way to the parking lot. On the way to the restaurant, he suggested, "Bryan told me that the two of you went out together last month."

"Yes, we did," she mumbled noncommittally, "What of it?"

"Oh, he indicated that it didn't go well, that's all."

At this she eyed him for a moment and responded, "It went just fine. I had a good time, if you must know."

His confusion readily apparent, Trevor replied, "Oh, I'm afraid I've put my foot in it. Tis really none of my business. I was simply making small talk."

"Well, since you put it that way," she proffered, "Bryan isn't really my type, if you must know."

"Oh? So exactly what is your type, if I may ask?"

At this she smiled and suggested, "You know, that's a very good question. Truth is, I'm not quite certain I even know myself. But hopefully, when I see it, I'll know it!"

"Well said, Rebecca, well said indeed. And I do believe I know what you mean," he replied with a smile of his own.

"Oh?" she blurted, "Then perhaps you could tell me what it is that you prefer in a woman?"

Arching one eyebrow in shock at such a provocative question, he stammered, "Uhm...well...let me see..."

"Surely it isn't that difficult a question?" she asked directly.

"No, you're right, I suppose it shouldn't be," he prevaricated, "But, it's just that, I suppose I haven't thought about it."

" _Really_! You must be kidding!"

"No, er, well, I suppose I'm simply not looking for anything permanent, that's all," he hedged.

"Ah, now we're getting somewhere. So why did you ask me out, if you're not interested in anything permanent?"

Eyeing her in confusion, he responded, "I'm sorry, Rebecca, I'm sure that sounded wrong. The truth is, I didn't even know that I was interested in you until Bryan told me that you turned down his request for a second date."

"Really! Why should that make you interested, Trevor?"

"Well, it's just that, _the way you turned him down_ seemed to me to be both caring and honest. And now that you've forced it out of me, I suppose that those are two of the most important qualities that I value in a woman."

At this she broke into just the tiniest bit of a smile and responded, "So the light-hearted and priggish Brit is indeed a gentleman possessed of a soul. Well, I'll be!"

Blushing in embarrassment, he dithered, "I say, enough chatter about me. Perhaps you could tell me a bit about yourself."

"Like what?" she asked defensively.

"Right, nothing challenging. Let me think. Alright, what pray tell is your course of study?"

"History," she responded candidly.

"History! What I wouldn't give to be studying history. I simply do not know enough of history," he observed wistfully.

"So, why did you choose to study engineering?" she inquired.

"Oh, I don't know," he replied defensively, "I suppose I'm cut out for it. The truth is, my father wanted me to study engineering. And I must admit, I thoroughly enjoy it."

They arrived at the restaurant shortly thereafter. The pair subsequently managing to complete dinner without discord, at which point Rebecca politely expressed her gratitude to Trevor for buying her dinner.

Mistaking her courtesy for interest, Trevor acknowledged her appreciation enthusiastically, immediately suggesting that they proceed forthwith to a bar near campus. At her concurrence, off they went to their next destination, Trevor nonetheless flummoxed by her distant attitude.

Arriving at the bar, they found a seat, Trevor querying pointedly, "I say, Rebecca, what would you like to drink?"

"I'll have a Coke," she responded unpretentiously.

"Certainly," he responded affably. "Be right back."

When he returned, he suggested, "So, speaking of seafood, do you like to go fishing, Rebecca?"

"What is that supposed to mean?" she replied suspiciously.

Recognizing her apparent irritation, he replied defensively, "Uhm, aren't you from the country? Somewhere in southern Virginia? I was led to believe that fishing is a pastime in rural Virginia."

"Oh! Well, since you put it that way – yes, I do like to go fishing."

Still confused at her initial reaction, he inquired, "I'm sorry, did I say something wrong, Rebecca?"

"No, well...it's just that – I thought you meant something else."

"Oh? What's that?" he asked vacuously.

She eyed him for a moment, then posited, "Fishing is something of a double entendre in the U.S., Trevor. It can also mean chasing members of the opposite sex."

At this his eyes bulged and he blurted, "Oh, my...I'm so sorry. I'd actually heard that, but somehow I forgot. Please excuse me!"

"Yes, of course," she replied uncomfortably, "But since you brought it up, despite what you said earlier, I don't understand why you invited me out."

"What!" he blurted, "Why, I should think it would be obvious."

"Humor me, Trevor."

"Well, er..." he mumbled.

"Despite the nice things you said earlier, anyone can see I'm not your type," she observed.

Now confused, he replied defensively, "And what type is that, pray tell?"

"You know, elegant, outgoing, a cut above the rest," she suggested self-consciously.

At this there was a lengthy pause as he gathered himself, but then he responded self-assuredly, "Had I not thought that you were, as you say, 'a cut above the rest', I should not have asked you out at all."

She glared momentarily at this evocative response and commanded, "Just what makes you say that, Trevor Sutherland?"

He responded directly, "I believe that you might have hidden qualities."

"Hidden qualities! What does that mean?"

Confusion still apparent in his face, he suggested, "Well, you seem to know what you want. And you seem to be able to observe others carefully and somehow ferret out their shortcomings. These are what I call hidden qualities."

Now obviously impressed, she replied, "Well, that's very kind of you. But let me ask you something."

"What's that?" he blurted vacuously.

"Why am I on a date with you, when you are also dating Vanessa Markham?"

"What! I'm not dating Vanessa!"

"Don't play the fool with me, Trevor Sutherland, you're playing both ends against the middle!"

"I say, in what way, Rebecca," he replied vacuously.

"You've been dating my friend, Vanessa, and now you've gone around behind her back and invited me out. I'm ashamed of you, and I'm ashamed of myself for accepting."

"Why ever on earth for?"

"Listen, you English prig, your behavior may be considered proper across the water, but in this country two-timing simply isn't done, at least not by people of conviction."

"I say...I'm not quite sure I follow you, Rebecca..." he stammered in confusion.

"Don't play me for the fool! After you asked me out, I decided to make certain you weren't still dating Vanessa. So, without informing her of our plans for this evening, I approached her and inquired offhandedly how things were progressing between the two of you. Well, surprise, surprise, she informed me that her relationship with you is going just swimmingly."

"What!" he exclaimed in shock, "I assure you, Vanessa and I are no longer dating one another, Rebecca."

"Yes, you are, you cad."

"How can I convince you that it is otherwise?"

"Listen, Mr. High-and-Mighty mucky-muck, in this country the two of you are dating _until she says you're not dating_!" she stated grimly.

"I say!" he exclaimed in sudden realization, "I had no idea. I am so sorry, Rebecca. I seem to have made a mess of things. Can you ever forgive me?"

"Look, let's us just attempt to have a nice time together. I'm afraid that I can't live with myself if I consider this a date. So, let's just say we're 'friends' out on the town."

"Certainly," he replied respectfully, "And I apologize for the confusion."

At this she responded gravely, "Apology accepted. But I must in all honesty inform you that I cannot see you again unless it is clear that you are not dating someone else."

He gazed morosely at her and replied, "Yes, of course. I understand completely, Rebecca. I assure you, I shall straighten this situation out."

Thereafter, a testy truce was accepted, and their discussion actually concluded in a civil way. But by the time they reached the car Trevor had recovered enough to say, "I say, I am terribly sorry, Rebecca. I do see something special in you, and I seem to have destroyed my own chances with you by failing to meet your standards. Please accept my apology."

"You've quite a lot to learn, Trevor. You can apologize all you want, but actions speak louder than words," she observed grimly and, eyeing him despairingly, she suggested, "Look, I'm tired. Would you mind taking me home, please?"

"What? Why? Tis only ten-thirty!" he blurted.

"Look, I don't feel very well. Please, could you just take me home?"

"Alright, certainly," he responded sullenly. "Yes, perhaps you are right, Rebecca."

They drove back to the dorm in telling silence and, on arriving she immediately reached for the car door, murmuring, "I can see my own way in from here. Goodnight, Trevor, and thanks again for dinner."

Now resigned to the reality that she had slipped through his fingers, he responded furtively, "Good night, Rebecca. Thank you for being direct with me. Rest assured, you have taught me a painful but important lesson tonight."

"Well, at least something good came from tonight," and at this she emerged forlornly from the car and made her solitary way toward the sorority house.

As he drove away, Trevor realized that he had succeeded in coming to the same point that Bryan had with Rebecca after only a single date.
Chapter 2

All Hallows Eve

Charlottesville - October

**Rebecca was still recovering** from her only date with Trevor Sutherland. Sure enough, he had subsequently broken off with Vanessa, so that by now she regretted having asked him to take her home. As a result, she had waited by the phone for several weeks in the forlorn hope that he might ask her out again. Surely they could do better next time, if only he would call. But he didn't.

Rebecca hadn't had enough experience with young men to understand them yet, but she remained hopeful that things would change this year. The upcoming Halloween party at the Sigma Tau frat house was one such opportunity.

Halloween was a transitional time of year in Charlottesville. It wasn't quite winter yet in October, thus summerlike outdoor activities were still pursued actively, weather permitting, but by November Charlottesville would normally be subjected to sufficiently ominous bursts of nasty weather to suggest that the long and dreary cold spell was rapidly approaching. Halloween seemed to signal the dividing line between the sunny upbeat portion of the year and the dark and brooding period of winter.

Although a month had passed, she remained annoyed with Trevor, aware that her irritation was at least in part due to the fact that he had not called her again. To make matters worse, he was a member of the fraternity where the Halloween party was to be held.

As the time for the Halloween party approached, the choice of the perfect costume began to consume Rebecca's thoughts. Since Halloween fell on a Saturday this year, it was the perfect opportunity for a mischievous party. To add to the anticipation, there was to be a costume contest with a prize to be awarded to the winner. Thus, she reasoned that her attire should be carefully planned to match the significance and timing of the event. Eventually, she settled on a slightly suggestive outfit.

By the morning of the Halloween party she was ready, but by mid-afternoon she was trembling with fear, wondering what she had been thinking of. Standing in front of her mirror in her costume, she suddenly realized that despite the addition of a body suit it was far too outrageous to be worn in public for someone staid and proper.

Rushing into Sarah's room, she burst into tears and exclaimed, "Sarah, I can't go tonight! I have nothing to wear! I simply can't wear this outfit!"

Eyeing her doubtfully, Sarah replied unequivocally, "Oh, come on, Rebecca, you've been working on that bizarre costume for three weeks! What gives?"

"I can't wear it," she responded fearfully, "I'm too scared! Where I come from, virgins don't go out in public dressed like this!"

"That's ridiculous. If you ask me, it looks awesome! Take it from me, girl, you are going to be the main attraction at the party tonight. Besides, the party's in less than an hour, so it's much too late to come up with something else."

"I know, I know," Rebecca responded forlornly. "But I really don't think I can go. I just haven't the nerve to wear this."

"Oh, is nerve the only problem? Because if it is, I have the perfect remedy," Sarah responded emphatically.

"Really? What is it?" Rebecca replied doubtfully.

Dragging a bottle of whiskey from her desk, Sarah poured a stiff shot into a glass and, surreptitiously handing it to Rebecca, she instructed, "Drink this. Think of it as strictly for medicinal purposes."

Regarding the glass suspiciously, Rebecca responded bluntly, "I don't drink."

"If you want your dreams to be fulfilled in the next few hours, you have to make a decision to take a risk right now. Remember, you've been pouting around here since the first week of school about not meeting anybody. Tonight is the night to change all that, and with that costume, you're going to be a real hit. So drink up, girl!"

Rebecca continued peering at the glass doubtfully for a moment, but then, shrugging in resignation, she grasped it and downed it in one sweeping motion. Predictably, she immediately bent over coughing and gagging and, gasping in pain, she whimpered, "Oh, my God, that burns like hell, Sarah!"

Between twitters, Sarah replied, "Right, but wait a couple of minutes and you'll see."

As anticipated, within minutes Rebecca was bubbling with mirth, exclaiming brazenly, "Oh, boy, I can't wait for the party to begin. I'm going to knock them dead with this outfit! You'll see, Sarah. Thanks for the drink. It's just what I needed," and with that pronouncement she waltzed precariously from the room.

Shortly thereafter, Rebecca and Sarah promenaded nervously through the front door of the Sigma Tau fraternity house. Several of the guys were immediately taken with Rebecca despite the fact that she was far too terrified to untie the cape strings of her bewitching attire. In fact, she received so much attention that she opted for another drink as a means of forestalling her by now mounting terror. She quickly found the bar and, hoisting yet another whiskey, she downed quite enough to regain her courage.

At midnight everyone gathered in the frat house dining room, whereupon one of the frat boys announced sonorously, "I say, ladies and gentlemen, it is now quite time for the costume contest." To Rebecca's surprise and humiliation it was in fact the very guy that she had so dreaded – Trevor Sutherland.

He continued, proclaiming, "The members of Sigma Tau have picked three finalists. Their names are Brandy Williams from Omega Phi, Vanessa Markham from Phi Delta, and Rebecca Carey, also from Phi Delta. Will the three finalists please be so kind as to come forward?" thereby inducing the crowd to erupt in applause as the three contestants approached him.

Still visibly inebriated, Rebecca bounced up and down excitedly and exclaimed to Sarah, "Wow! I made the finals!" but, quickly recovering her composure, she went forward to join the other two finalists.

As she stepped forward Trevor said nothing, but nonetheless smirked at her somehow disdainfully. He then continued, announcing, "Right, now for the finals. We shall play a single number, and each finalist should display herself in whatever way she desires. Bobby, take it away!" And with that a dance number began playing.

The three contestants immediately began dancing, with Vanessa taking the lead in her yellow polka-dot bikini. Not to be outdone, Brandy Williams writhed sinuously, the crowd getting into her performance. Momentarily embarrassed by the proceedings, Rebecca simply danced about within her cape but, seeing that she was falling behind, she eventually removed her cape to reveal a black bustier, garter belt and panties, with a body suit beneath. The crowd immediately turned their collective attention to Rebecca and, sensing that she had stolen the lead, she danced provocatively for the crowd, in the end winning their approval and, along with it, first prize.

That Same Evening

**When Rebecca and Sarah finally arrived** back at the dorm, Sarah launched into uncontrolled euphoria, chortling, "I had no idea, girl. You are built like a bombshell! Where did you get that body from? You could have been an exotic dancer if you hadn't chosen to go to college. I'd give anything to have your body, girl. I'd be starring in one of those shows in Las Vegas. I'd have men falling all over me."

Feigning gratitude, Rebecca sensed that something was nonetheless distracting her. She wasn't sure exactly what it was but, intent on resolving it within her own mind, she replied simply, "Thank you, Sarah. Good night," and subsequently headed to her room to get some sleep. Unfortunately, she didn't sleep at all that night. In point of fact, she slept little at all over the succeeding weeks.

Campus – February

**It was one of those terribly cold days when Trevor wondered to himself** why he hadn't chosen to go to school in a warmer climate. As he struggled his way across campus, the snow falling in near-horizontal sheets, he tucked his head downward in a desperate attempt to protect himself from the elements. Gazing downwards, he suddenly perceived another person's feet just as he bumped headlong into her.

Raising his gaze, he stared directly into the face of Rebecca Carey, from whom erupted the single word, "Damn!"

Grabbing both of her arms to steady both himself and her, he blurted, "Rebecca! Rebecca Carey!"

"Oh, hello, Trevor," she exclaimed above the howling winds.

"I'm so sorry, Rebecca," he responded, "I didn't see you."

Smiling forlornly at such a weak excuse, she posited, "It's okay, Trevor, I doubt I could find my own hand in front of my face in this damned blizzard!"

Smiling in turn, he agreed, "Well, it seems there is a silver lining to this cloud."

"Oh? And what might that be?"

"Why, bumping into you," he replied diffidently.

"Oh, God," she exclaimed, "There are far better ways to converse with me, I assure you, Trevor Sutherland."

Taking this as an invitation, he inquired, "Enlighten me, if you will!"

"One need only ask," she rejoined noncommittally.

"Why, then, consider it done," he responded hopefully.

"Consider what done?" she replied.

"Rebecca, if you would be so kind, please join me for a cup of coffee. My treat, and we can in the process get out of this weather!"

Smiling her consent, she responded, "I thought you'd never ask!"

Within minutes the pair were sharing a much-needed break in the nearest coffee shop. "My goodness," he began, "How long has it been since we last saw one another, Rebecca?"

"Halloween, you idiot," she blabbed nonchalantly, "And don't bother pretending you'd forgotten."

"Right," he murmured, "How could I forget? You were sensational that night!"

"Oh, I was embarrassed beyond all hell that night, if you must know."

"That may be, but you certainly had my vote."

"Right, you jerk," she exclaimed, "When I think about it, I have no idea why I'm even sitting her talking to you, a guy who simply has no sense of propriety whatsoever."

At this he grinned at her and said, "Tell you what, Rebecca Carey, if you could see your way to allow me one more chance with you, I believe that you shall find that I am up to the standards that you so unfairly demand."

At this she eyed him over the rim of her coffee cup and, her eyes suddenly blazing, she posited, "You asshole...what a jerk you are. You would say anything to get a woman's attention, wouldn't you!"

His smile disappearing, he responded in all sincerity, "Rebecca, on my honor as a Brit, I am dating no one, nor do I have any wish to date anyone at all other than you. Ever since that night, you have bewitched me. If necessary, I shall kiss your feet for one more chance."

"That night? You mean – the night of the Halloween Party?" she rejoined doubtfully.

"Of course not," he replied, "As you well know, I am speaking of the night that you so ingloriously put me in my place on the lone date we shared together."

Now smirking in triumph, she replied, "I did kind of lambast you that night, didn't I!"

"Yes, and I can't tell you how much I needed and deserved it," he replied in nervously, "One chance is all I ask."

At this she set her cup down and, eyeing him momentarily, she leaned forward, kissed him lightly on the lips and, pulling away, she murmured, "One and only one, you gorgeous asshole!"

"Oh, thank you, Rebecca," he replied happily, "I promise, you shan't regret it."

"I'd better not."

Charlottesville – Early March

**Rebecca answered the ringing phone with,** "Hello?"

"Rebecca, tis I, Trevor," he responded, "Could we meet at the coffee shop? I've something to discuss with you."

"Oh, Trevor, I'm so glad you called," she responded, "There's something I want to discuss with you as well."

"Fifteen minutes?" he inquired.

"I'll be there," and with that she hung up the phone.

The Coffee Shop – A Few Weeks Later

**As she came through the door, Trevor waved.** Wending her way through the crowd, she gave him a friendly kiss on arrival at the table.

"You look happy today," he fished.

"I am, and you know why," she responded pleasantly.

"Yes, of course," he responded and placing one hand within hers, he shifted into the seat adjacent to hers.

"So, what's up?" she inquired.

"Tis spring break, Rebecca. I'm going to Washington to see my folks."

"Ah, good for you, Trevor" she replied noncommittally.

"Right, well, here's the thing – my folks would like to meet you," he responded warily.

At this she eyed him doubtfully and asked, "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Just what I said, Rebecca."

"I'm afraid you're going to have to be more specific," she replied.

"Rebecca, dear Rebecca," he stalled, "Surely you know how dear you have become to me."

"Ok-kay," she hedged, "Tell me more."

"Tis just that, well, I don't hide things from my parents. Not that it would make any difference, because my mother is very perceptive. She recognized a change in my attitude last month, when we started dating one another. So it seems that she means to learn more about the source of my current well-being."

"So, you want me to go to Washington with you at spring break to meet your parents?"

"Yes."

"Trevor, I don't know how things are done where you come from, but in this country one does not take one's girlfriend to meet his or her parents unless it is decidedly serious."

"Right, it's the same in England," he responded nervously.

"Oh," she blurted in confusion, "Well, then..."

Seeing her hesitation, he took her hands in his and announced, "Rebecca, surely you must know by now how dear you have become to me. It is perhaps premature to say more than this, but I don't think that I could bear to be away from you for an entire week over spring break. Please say you will accompany me. We shall have a grand time in Washington, and we'll escape my parents grasp as much as possible."

"Say that again," she quibbled,

"Say what?"

"You know – the first part," she grinned.

"Oh, that," he replied, "Rebecca, you have become quite dear to me."

Her eyes lighting up, she replied, "Hmmm, in that case, I'll have to change my plans."

"Plans? What plans?"

"I was planning on being mad at you for not inviting me to join you at spring break, but I've decided that I shall come to Washington instead."
Chapter 3

Breaking Up

Las Vegas – Spring Break, 1968

**Bryan grinned at Miguel and said,** "Boy, am I glad we came here to Fort Lauderdale, Miguel!"

"Me, too," Miguel responded, "Too bad Trevor couldn't come with us."

"Yeah, well, we'll be just fine without him," Bryan observed, "And this here Puma Club is quite the place, isn't it?"

"Right," Miguel observed, "It's the very first amateur strip club in Florida. Imagine that!"

"Yeah, well, it seems we have need to!" Bryan responded gleefully, "The world is changing fast, Miguel, and I'm all for it. If women want to express themselves by showing off their bodies, who am I to disagree?"

"I couldn't agree more, Bry," Miguel put in, "And you are about to see the surprise that I told you about."

"Yeah, you've kept me waiting for a solid month, Miguel. Just what the heck IS this big surprise?"

"It's not _what_ Bry, it's _who_ is this big surprise!" Miguel exclaimed.

"I don't understand," Bryan responded, "You mean, the surprise is _a person_?"

"That's right, and here she comes onstage now!"

At this Bryan turned towards the stage and, seeing the young lady who appeared from behind the rising curtain, he blurted, "Oh, my God! Would you look at that, Miguel! You were absolutely right about her! Do you think she'll take _everything_ off?"

"I certainly hope so," Miguel replied, "Let's just wait and see!"

Danville - Summer, 1968

**For Rebecca, summer** **couldn't have come at a worse time** , especially due to the development of her relationship with Trevor over the course of the spring semester. As a result, when she arrived home for the summer, she was less than thrilled to see her mother. To make matters worse, her mom quickly reverted to her old ways, nagging her incessantly. Within mere hours of her arrival at home she was desperate to get back to school, anything being preferable to her mother's interminable repression. Still, she had found a summer job, and she desperately needed it in order to make money for the fall semester at UVa.

Danville – Late Summer, 1968

The morning Rebecca left home to return to UVa, her mom sat her down on the living room sofa and, eyeing her ominously, she announced, "Listen dear, I know how your heart is set on graduating from Virginia, but we just don't have enough money for you to live away from home for another two years. I managed to pay for the fall semester, but I'll need an extra four thousand dollars to get you through the next two years, and I haven't the means to raise such an enormous amount of money. I have no idea how we'll make ends meet. I'll try dear, but it doesn't look at all likely at the moment."

Rebecca was shocked and dismayed by this revelation, having become even more resolved to never again be hemmed in by her mother's oppressive tactics. In desperation, she resolved to look for work on her return to school.

Charlottesville – The Following Day

**Rebecca saw him first and,** rushing into his arms, she kissed him passionately, "Oh, God, Trevor, I missed you so much!"

Holding her close, he responded, "No more than I, Rebecca. I thought the summer would never end!"

Taking his hand within hers, she suggested, "Come on, I know where we can be alone."

"Like where?" he inquired.

"I've reserved a carrel in the library, just for the afternoon" she posited.

"You naughty girl!" he replied knowingly.

"Do you know of a better place?" she inquired with an impish grin.

"Can't say as I do," he replied sheepishly.

"Then come on!"

Once ensconced in the privacy of the tiny room, they embraced passionately and, at length coming up for air, he said, "God, I've wanted to do this for so long. I'd almost forgotten what it felt like to hold you in my arms."

"Yeah, but down, big boy," she responded, "There's a time and place for more. At the moment, I need to talk."

Pulling back from her, he frowned and inquired, "What's the matter, Rebecca? Is something wrong?"

"No, it's not to do with us," she denied, "Surely you know that!"

"Yes, of course," he responded, "But what's on your mind?"

"I'm having financial problems, Trevor. I may not be able to complete my studies at UVa."

"What!" he exclaimed, "Surely that isn't an issue. My family will help with your expenses."

Pushing him away, she tugged one hand through her hair and responded, "You know I can't do that."

Peering at her in dismay, he responded, "Yeah, I suppose I do. Why else would I be so taken with you? Damn your sense of ethics. I do so adore you, but I sometimes despise your high sense of morality!"

Grinning at him, she responded, "Face it, Trevor Sutherland – you're stuck with me!"

"Guilty as charged," he blurted, "Sooo, what's you plan?"

"Plan? What plan?"

"Oh, come now, Rebecca. You always have a plan!"

"Also guilty as charged," she blabbed, "So, here it is – I'm going to work – in the bookstore. I've already done the math and, what with the reduced tuition I get for being employed by the university, if I work twenty hours a week for the next two years, I'll be within three thousand dollars of having enough to pay for my senior year at UVa."

"That's still quite a bit short, Rebecca."

"I know, but I'll think of something."

Sigma Tau Fraternity House - Halloween

**Rebecca and Sarah waltzed arm-in-arm through the front door** of the fraternity house and, just as in the previous year, once inside Rebecca immediately began drawing a crowd. This time there was a monetary prize for the very first time and, aware that Vanessa would be aiming to dethrone her, Rebecca understood that her costume would necessarily have to improve on last year's. Accordingly, she had discarded the bodysuit, and she was determined to open her cape at appropriate moments in the festivities. Within minutes she spotted Trevor coming towards her and, prepared for his dissatisfaction with her somewhat ribald display, she awaited his anticipated displeasure.

"Rebecca!" he spat, "Just what the hell do you think you're doing?"

"I'm earning next year's tuition, Trevor," she responded demurely, "Surely you can understand that. I'm just a working girl earning her way in life."

"I simply forbid you to display yourself this way," he commanded, "Now, button up your cape and behave yourself!"

"I'm sorry," she rebutted between clenched teeth, "What did you say to me?"

"You heard me – cover yourself, Rebecca! No girlfriend of mine is going to be seen in public in such a getup, and without a bodysuit, no less!"

At this she flashed her eyes at him and announced, "This is who I am, Trevor! Take me as I am, or not at all!"

His teeth clenched in irritation, he spat back, "I can see you are in no mood to see reason," and with that he turned on his heel and stalked away.

At this Sarah whispered in her ear, "Well done, Rebecca. He'll come around sooner or later."

Rebecca whispered back, "I certainly hope so. I don't think I could live without him. But what am I to do? If I can't raise enough money for next year, I'll lose him anyway!"

"Right," Sarah put in, "Just stick to your guns. You're in the right. Besides, if you ask me your outfit is just fine."

Sure enough, Rebecca won the first prize for the second year in a row. And the prize money of two hundred dollars put her that much closer to her goal of returning to UVa for her senior year.

Later that Evening

**For his part, Trevor felt a serious sense of loss** at the evening's developments. Rebecca had surprised him, and the outcome somehow gave him a hollow feeling. Sensing the need to deal with that feeling, he approached Rebecca tentatively. Seeing him advance, she promptly moved away, thereby forestalling any opportunity at reconciliation on his part.

Sorely embarrassed by her rebuke, he wandered aimlessly through the crowd, eventually spying Vanessa still ensconced within the melee. Their eyes meeting, he approached her and offered, "I say, that is quite an outfit, Vanessa! Quite sporting of you, if I do say so myself."

"Thanks, but I lost, didn't I," she responded diffidently.

"Not at all," Trevor replied fallaciously, "That vixen Rebecca is quite the tease. You, on the other hand, are possessed of a certain style!"

Eyeing him doubtfully, she responded succinctly, "Tell you what, Trevor Sutherland, take me for a drive, and we'll see who has style."

"I say, spot on, Vanessa!" he chortled with newfound anticipation.

"Okay," she replied, "Let me change clothes first. I'll be right back." Returning momentarily, she announced breathlessly, "All set, Trevor."

"Please to follow me," he replied self-confidently, and as they departed, he made certain that Rebecca observed the two of them.

They drove a few miles south from campus, he having no idea where this was leading to. Suddenly instructing him to pull over on a country road just outside of town, Vanessa bounded from the car and scampered into the nearby woods so hastily that he assumed she must indeed be desperate to relieve herself.

When she failed to return, he became alarmed, calling out to her, "I say, Vanessa, are you quite alright?"

"Yes," she responded from within the woods, "I'm fine, but I'm a little bit lost. Can you come and get me? And if you have one with you, please bring a flashlight."

"Certainly," he called back and, grabbing his flashlight, he proceeded in the direction from whence her voice had emanated. When within a scant few feet of the car he found her skirt draped over a bush, he thought to himself, "Boy, she must have been in a really big hurry to go." But then he found her sweater, and shortly thereafter, her blouse as well. Somewhat perplexed by these discoveries, he called out, "Vanessa, where are you?"

"Over here," she replied pleasantly. Adjusting his direction accordingly, he suddenly discovered her hose draped over yet another bush. Still uncertain as to her actions, he shined his flashlight through the trees in the general direction from whence she had called out, at which point he spotted her. She was in a small clearing and, clad in nothing but her underwear, she was engaged in some sort of salacious jungle dance. Thusly adorned, she pranced to and fro, her long blonde hair whirling with each toss and turn of her bobbing head.

He frowned to himself as he viewed her through the trees, his doubts having now entirely disappeared. Flabbergasted, he plunged into the clearing, exclaiming inanely, "What the hell...aren't you cold, Vanessa?"

"Nope," she replied brazenly, singing a tune to herself as she strutted shamelessly to and fro, "Just have to keep moving, that's all."

"What exactly are you doing?" he queried with growing anticipation.

"I'm unveiling my style. Just watch. You'll see," she responded breathlessly, and within seconds the two were frolicking absolutely naked in the nocturnal wilds on All Hallows Eve.

Two Days Later

**Vanessa poked her head within** Rebecca's room, saying, "Anybody home?"

Observing Vanessa, Rebecca tugged the covers down from her head and said groggily, "Oh, hey Vanessa..."

At this Vanessa offered, "Anything wrong, Rebecca? Are you ill? Is there anything I can do?"

"No, I'm fine, just having trouble sleeping, that's all..."

"Oh, sorry to hear that," Vanessa responded, but of course she wasn't. "What seems to be the problem?"

At this Rebecca eyed her suspiciously, "I should think you would know the answer to that, Vanessa!"

Doing her best acting job, Vanessa attempted to reply innocently, "Uhm, you mean, uhm, what happened the other night, at the Halloween party?"

"Don't act so innocent, Vanessa," Rebecca posited, "We both know what's going on."

Still unrepentent, Vanessa responded, "Okay, I admit it, Rebecca, Trevor and I left the party together. But I swear, nothing happened, nothing at all!"

"Fine, whatever," Rebecca retorted, "But just so you will know – Trevor and I broke up yesterday."

"Oh!" Vanessa exclaimed, "I'm sorry to hear that, Rebecca. I hope you get over it okay."

"Thanks, I'll be just fine," Rebecca responded grimly, "After all, he's a real asshole."

Ignoring this last, Vanessa offered in her own empathetic way, "Anyway, you remember what I said a long time ago - every once in a while you get a whopper on the line, and by the time you get him into the boat, you realize he wasn't what you were after to begin with."

"Yeah, Vanessa," Rebecca grumbled, "I remember. Now, if you don't mind, I'd like to get some sleep."

"Oh, right. Sorry to bother you, Rebecca," and so saying, she tugged the door closed behind her as she departed the room. Once outside, she whispered to herself, "You did it, Vanessa Markham. Now he's back on _your_ fishing line!"

Charlottesville – The Day after the Thanksgiving Holiday

**Trevor came strolling down the dorm hallway,** his thoughts miles away, when Bryan popped his head into the hallway from his dorm room. "Trevor!" he exclaimed, "How was your holiday?"

"Okay," Trevor responded distantly, "We don't really celebrate Thanksgiving in England, you know, but it was nevertheless good to see my folks."

Changing the subject, Bryan asked somewhat timidly, "Do you have a minute? I have a problem that I could use your help with."

"Sure," Trevor responded, "Come on in my room. Let's talk."

Following Trevor within, Bryan said, "Thanks."

Once within, Trevor inquired, "So, what seems to be the problem?"

"Uhm, well, I have a small problem, Trevor. I'm actually not supposed to tell you about the details, so please don't tell anyone."

"Tell anyone about what, Bryan?"

"So Rebecca Carey has run into some financial problems. It seems her family doesn't have sufficient funds for her to stay at UVa beyond this year."

"Yes," Trevor replied distantly, "I am well aware of that. And as I'm sure you are aware, we've broken off with one another, so what does it have to do with me?"

"Yeah, that is a good question. I actually heard about it from Sarah," Bryan posited, "I of course wanted to help. I at one time held a soft spot in my heart for Rebecca, as you well know. Anyway, a friend of mine heard about this birthday party in Washington. It seems that some wealthy South American is having a birthday next weekend, and my friend was informed that they are looking for someone to perform at his birthday party."

His face paling at what this revelation might portend, Trevor blurted, "Don't tell me...you want Rebecca to put on some sort of a show!"

"Don't look at me that way, Trevor. I'm just trying to help her out. You saw her at the Halloween party. And Sarah says that Rebecca took dance in high school, so she seems an obvious choice given that she is in dire financial straits."

"Exactly how is that going to help her, Bryan?"

"They're offering two thousand dollars for her to perform at the party, Trevor. That would be enough to pay for her college expenses next year!"

"I don't want any part of this, Bry," Trevor responded, "After all, it might also get her kicked out of UVa!"

"What makes you say that?"

"Bryan! Surely you've asked yourself what sort of performance a young lady would have to put on in order to justify being paid that much money for a single performance."

"Well," Bryan stammered, "I already thought of that, so I asked for more info. My friend says it's strictly legit. The party is very formal – no hanky panky whatsoever."

"Then why are they offering so much money?"

"That's the thing, Trevor. Apparently, because they're not from the U.S., they don't know the ropes in D.C. And this guy is supposedly quite important, so they want to do something nice for him. At least, that's what I'm told."

"Still sounds fishy to me, Bry..."

"I understand," Bryan responded, "But, to tell you the truth, Rebecca seems capable of taking care of herself."

"Just what is that supposed to mean?" Trevor inquired suspiciously.

"Trevor, she's already agreed to do the performance."

"What! Surely you're joking, Bry!"

"I've never been more serious."

At this Trevor frowned and added, "I don't get it! She doesn't seem the type at all to me. Besides, that's not enough money to cover her expenses for next year."

"Actually, I believe it is, Trevor."

"But she told me she needed three thousand dollars!"

"Right," Bryan explained, "That, together with the two hundred she made at Halloween, and the eight hundred she made in Richmond brings the total to three thousand dollars."

"What!" Trevor barked, "What are you talking about? Richmond? What are you saying? Are you implying that she put on some sort of performance in Richmond?"

At this Bryan paled and blurted, "Sorry, I thought you already knew about that."

"About what! Tell me, Bryan, or so help me..."

"Okay, okay, Trevor. Don't get so upset. She did a show at the Lambda Xi house in Richmond two weeks ago."

"Damn!" Trevor spluttered, "And she made eight _hundred_ dollars? It must have been one hell of a show..."

"Yeah, I hear it was," Bryan muttered meekly.

"Alright, spill it, Bryan – how far did she go?"

"Well, er..."

"Damn! She went all the way, didn't she?" Trevor screamed.

At this Bryan grinned half-heartedly and, tugging a photo from his pocket, he shoved it forward and said, "See for yourself."

Trevor peered at the photo for a moment, and then, tearing it into pieces, he blurted, "Holy Mother of Mary. What the hell has gotten into her?"

At this Bryan grinned meekly and replied, "I'm sure she's just trying to make enough money to stay in school, Trevor."

"Damn!" Trevor muttered, "So you think she really wants to do this, this _birthday party_?"

"Yes, absolutely. I've discussed it with her, and she jumped at the opportunity."

Regaining his composure, Trevor blurted, "I must say, this is quite disappointing to me."

"Why?" Bryan inquired vacuously, "You yourself said you broke up with her."

"It's just that, well, it's just surprising to me, that's all. Anyway, what is it that you needed from me?"

Bryan arched one eyebrow and posited, "I was wondering if you wouldn't mind taking her down to Washington on Saturday for her performance."

"Why don't you take her? After all, you seem to have arranged it."

"You know I don't have a car, Trevor."

"Well, then get someone else to do it!"

"She wouldn't hear of anyone else taking her. She wants you to take her."

"Well then, why couldn't she just have asked me herself?"

"She's embarrassed, Trevor. She's afraid you won't like her doing it. I wasn't supposed to even tell you about the show she did in Richmond, and look how you reacted to that."

"Yeah, you're right," Trevor blurted, "Damn..."

"There's one other thing, Trevor."

"What's that?"

"You'll get to see her performance," Bryan posited.

Trevor stared at him for a moment, then responded, "Alright, I'll take her to Washington."

"Okay, but she doesn't want to see you till then. She's quite embarrassed, you know."

"I understand. Tell her I'll pick her up on Saturday afternoon at 4."

"Great. She said to tell you she'd be waiting outside the sorority house. She doesn't want the other girls to see her with you. She's afraid they'll suspect she's doing something untoward, which of course, she is."

"Got it. Okay, thanks Bryan. I'll take it from here."

Washington, DC – Saturday evening

**Trevor turned the corner and,** as expected, she was waiting out front when he pulled up to the sorority house. Tugging the car door open, she hopped in and said, "Hello, Trevor."

Under the circumstances, all he could think of to say was, "Hello, Rebecca. How are you?"

"I've been better," she responded morosely, "And don't say another word. Just drive, you hear me?"

Somehow thankful that she was not in a talkative mood, he responded, "Got it," and off they went.

The pair drove in near silence, darkness settling in by the time they arrived in Washington. The address they had been given turned out to be a dock at the Washington Channel.

As they pulled up beside an enormous yacht, he stared at it uneasily and inquired nervously, "This is the address I was given, Rebecca."

"Alright then, I know what I'm supposed to do. Come on, let's go aboard and get this over with, Trevor."

At this irksome revelation he simply eyed her disconsolately and inquired, "What time does the party start?"

"Oh, it's already underway, my performance is supposed to be in fifteen minutes, so we're just in time. Wait here. I'll be back shortly."

"What! Wait!"

"What for?" she responded blankly.

"I'm going with you!" he blurted.

"No!" she spat back, her eyes flashing.

"Why not?" he responded. "Is it going to be that bad?"

"No," she murmured, "It's all very tame, I assure you."

"Well then, I should go aboard, Rebecca."

"You just want to watch, don't you, you pervert!"

"No!" he denied, "I just think it'd be better if I were there, in case something happens."

"Nothing is going to happen, but if you're so insistent, promise me – if anything does happen, promise me you'll watch out for me."

"Of course," he replied.

"Done! Come on, asshole!" she retorted, and so saying, she plunged from the car and headed toward the gangplank.

Grabbing his stuff, Trevor, jumped from the car and raced after her.

A rather surly fellow met the pair at the end of the gangway, inquiring politely, "You must be Miss Carey?"

"Yes, of course," she responded nonchalantly.

"Perfect! Hi, I'm Sandro," he responded pleasantly, adding, "Please, this way Miss Carey. They are awaiting your arrival in the dining room."

"Thank you," she said and, thenceforth following him below deck, they arrived shortly thereafter at a small state room. At that point Sandro turned to her and said, "Okay, you know what to do. Now, follow me, and when we get to the dining room, head for the stage and do your stuff." And with that, he grabbed her hand and dragged her from the room, Trevor following close behind. They now climbed a stairway, and as they did so, she could hear a band playing music.

Arriving at their destination, the guy tugged the door open, poked his head through, and exclaimed, "Here she is, boss!" And with that, he turned and escorted her through the doorway.

Following directly behind her, Trevor observed a rather long and narrow room. Spotting a stage at the far end, he watched as she made her way toward it, along the way noticing several dining tables, each populated with elegantly dressed gentlemen. At the sight of her they launched into polite applause.

She proceeded directly to the stage and, stepping onto it, she bowed gracefully. The band now struck up a tune, she for her part commencing her performance. As she did so, Trevor took the opportunity to gauge her audience for the first time. They were incongruously advanced in age for frat boys, and for some reason, all aboard were decked out in black tuxedos. That is, except for a lone gentleman at what must have been the head table. He too was garbed in a tux, but he was bedecked in an extraordinarily gaudy red sequined jacket.

Trevor watched as she continued her lithesome machinations for one further number, thereby arriving at the conclusion of her act in short order. At this point the audience arose and gave her an appreciative ovation. For her part, she gave a sweeping bow and, grasping up her cape, she blew the crowd an appreciative kiss.

Her act now apparently at an end, he watched as she strutted from the stage and made for the exit, but she somehow found her path blocked by the gentleman in the red sequined jacket. Trevor watched as, halting her, he grasped her in a gentle embrace and, grinning salaciously, he whispered something in her ear, at which she shook her head vehemently in apparent denial.

Suddenly, she appeared to attempt to escape his grasp, but he twisted her wrist and, apparently tightening his grip, he tugged her close a second time. Reaching forward, he encircled her neck with his free hand and whispered something in her ear. Once again, she struggled mightily, but it was clear to Trevor that escape was impossible.

Suddenly realizing that something had gone terribly wrong, Trevor lunged forward but, observing two guys staring ominously at him nearby, he thought better of it. Instead, he decided to leave the room, perhaps affording him an opportunity to enter at the far end of the room from the outer deck. Once outside, he realized that the deck was blocked in that direction, thus giving him no means of intervention whatsoever. Instead, he pulled the device he had brought with him from his coat pocket and fumbled with it in haste.

The music struck up again, and Trevor watched through the window as Rebecca immediately tugged at her draw strings, ceremoniously removing her cape. Within seconds, she had discarded the remainder of her garments. The music ended and, Rebecca's act now completed for a second time, she bowed yet again, this time to an enthusiastic ovation.

The applause now having died down, the gentleman in the red sequined jacket hopped upon the stage again and, grabbing her arm, he thrust it upwards as a sign of victory. Grinning from ear to ear, he announced, "How 'bout that, boys? Isn't she just the peachiest portion you've ever laid eyes on?" and, at the now re-erupting applause, he appended, "I ask you, isn't this a _great_ birthday party!" at which point the applause grew still louder.

Suddenly, a pair of handcuffs appearing from nowhere, he snapped one end about her captive wrist. For her part, she could only glance about for some form of escape but, seeing none, she stood forlornly gaping at the audience.

A table was summarily brought onstage and placed facing the audience. He dragged her across it, cuffing her hands to the tops of the table legs on the opposite side. She was now strapped to the table, facing the audience. He then pulled her legs apart and, cuffing her at the ankles, he subsequently cuffed each in succession to the bottom of the table legs on the side facing away from the audience.

"How do you like this birthday present, boys?" he exclaimed as he began removing his trousers. "When I was twenty years old I promised myself that I would have a virgin for dessert on my birthday every year. And every year since then I have done just that! I don't mind telling you, this year was tough. Virgins are easy to come by back in Venezuela, but I had a hell of a time finding one here in the good old U S of A! But this here ripe little peach is a virgin, isn't that right, miss?"

Rebecca nodded. And at that moment he smacked her loudly on the bottom, exclaiming, "That's a good girl," and then he walked around behind the table and proceeded to rape her. When he was sated, he backed away from her for a moment and slid something that felt like paper into her left boot top. Subsequently turning away, he ordered, "Sandro, take her below, and keep an eye on her, hear? I'll be down for another round in a little while." For their part, the audience paid no attention at all as Sandro hauled Rebecca from the stage.

A Few Moments Later

**Rebecca was dragged back into the adjacent state room** , at which point Sandro inquired, "Are you okay? You look beat."

"I'm fine, it's all in a day's work" she lied, "But he rode me real hard, and I need to go to the bathroom something fierce. Could you please take me to a toilet?"

"Sure," he replied and, scooping up her costume, he led her down a hallway. Arriving at the head, he pointed, "It's here, and don't try anything, because I'll be outside the door, okay?"

"Okay," she said and darted into the restroom. Once inside, she quickly removed her leather boots, replacing them with her leotard. On removing her boots the telltale piece of paper fell out and, realization seeping over her that it was a hundred dollar bill, she swept up the currency, folded it, and pressed it within her leotard. Then she called out, "Sandro, are you out there?"

"Yeah," he replied. "What do you want?"

She cooed seductively, "Can you lean your head up to the door, I need to ask you something."

"Okay," he replied in a muffled tone.

Hoping against hope that her plan might succeed, she leaned back on the sink counter and, kicking the door with both feet as hard as she could, she caught him square on the chin. Sandro went down and didn't move. She climbed over him and raced down the hallway. Seeing a door with a porthole on it and, noticing that it was dark on the other side, she pushed the door open and confirmed that she was now on deck.
Chapter 4

Enlisting

The Potomac River – December, 1968

**Trevor watched the entire proceeding in utter disbelief from the** deck outside the dining room. Unsure what he might do at this point, he was simply frozen in place, when suddenly he heard the portside door slam open. She staggered onto the deck and, without so much as a moment's hesitation, she dove overboard. Horror stricken, he rushed aft from where he had been standing on deck, but he could neither see nor hear anything at all in the darkness.

He was so dumbfounded by what he had just observed that he was initially petrified with confusion and fear as to what he should do. But within seconds of her disappearance he realized that his life might be in danger and, as he had no idea exactly who the people were onboard the yacht, he feared that they might not be overly friendly towards him when they discovered that Rebecca had taken flight.

Toying briefly with the idea of following her overboard, he immediately thought better of it, deciding instead that his best course of action would be to join the party in the dining room as unobtrusively as possible. Accordingly, he acted as if he had only stepped out for a moment to go to the head and crept in the back door to the dining room. Fortunately, he hadn't been missed at all, thereby allowing him to retake his seat without notice.

At that moment Sandro came in with an obvious look of concern on his face and, whispering in the ear of his boss, he elicited from his recipient, "What! You've got to be kidding me! That little bitch!" The boss then jumped up and hurriedly left the room, followed by a clearly confused Sandro.

Meanwhile, completely unconcerned by the guest of honor's outburst, the guests continued enjoying the cruise on the river. He returned shortly thereafter, and obviously ruffled, he stepped onto the stage and motioned for the band to stop playing. He then turned to the audience and announced, "Gentlemen, we have a little problem – my birthday present apparently jumped overboard about ten minutes ago. The captain has notified the U.S. Coast Guard, and unfortunately we have been ordered to hold our present position."

He now added peremptorily, "I don't think I need to tell you, we're probably all going to be questioned by the U.S. authorities. You have nothing to be concerned about, but it would be in everyone's best interest if nothing at all were said about my birthday present's table dance at the end of the show. Gentlemen, I will let you know when we know more, but it looks like it's going to be a long night. So, find a comfortable spot and await further developments."

A half hour later a Coast Guard vessel pulled alongside the yacht and three persons boarded. Within minutes of the vessel's arrival one of the crew came into the dining room and asked Trevor to follow him to the bridge. When he arrived there a Coast Guard Officer introduced himself, saying, "I'm Ensign Thomas."

Attempting nonchalance, Trevor shook his hand and replied, "Trevor Sutherland, sir."

Ensign Thomas responded with, "I understand that you know the woman that went overboard. Is that correct, Mr. Sutherland?"

"Yes, it is indeed."

"And what was her purpose in being onboard the yacht, Mr. Sutherland?"

"She was here to perform for the birthday party, Ensign Thomas."

"I understand that her act is a strip show, is that correct?"

"Not exactly, sir."

"What! What does that mean?"

"Sir, I've never seen her strip before."

"Oh, come now, Mr. Sutherland. The guests all seem to agree that she was nude."

"Yes, sir, for some reason, she certainly was on this occasion. However, she had never to my knowledge performed completely naked before."

"Before? So you've seen her perform before?"

"Yes sir, but certainly not like tonight."

"And what is her name, Mr. Sutherland?"

"Rebecca, Rebecca Carey."

"And where is she from?"

"She hails from Danville, although she currently resides in Charlottesville, sir. She's a junior at The University of Virginia."

"And what is your connection with her, Mr. Sutherland?"

"Oh, I am little more than an acquaintance," he lied, "I agreed to drive her to Washington for the show."

"I see," Ensign Thomas responded doubtfully. "Do you have any information regarding Ms. Carey's disappearance from the yacht?"

"Not at all, sir. However, I did see her go over the side."

"What! You saw her go overboard?"

"Yes, sir, indeed I did."

"Did she fall, or did she jump?"

"It appeared to me that she dove head first, Ensign Thomas."

"Do you have any idea why she would dive overboard in the middle of the Potomac River, Mr. Sutherland?"

"No, sir, none at all."

"Can you show me where she jumped from the yacht?"

"Certainly, if you will follow me I shall be more than happy to show you," and at this Trevor led the ensign to the starboard side midway aft, thereby pointing to where he had seen her go overboard.

"How long ago was that, Mr. Sutherland?"

Glancing at his watch, Trevor replied, "Oh, I'd say perhaps an hour ago."

"Do you have any idea where the ship was when it happened?"

"No sir, I wasn't looking toward the shore. I was searching the river for any sign of her."

"Alright, Mr. Sutherland, that is all for now. But stay close. This is going to be a long night."

"Yes, sir," Trevor replied, and so saying, he returned to the dining room. Two hours later the yacht docked where the cruise had commenced. The ship was met by a number of law enforcement professionals who, upon boarding the yacht, fanned out to initiate the investigation, each person obviously having been previously assigned a specific responsibility. His mind racing in confusion, Trevor watched it all unfold from the aft deck railing.

Within minutes a rugged looking man approached Trevor, inquiring irritably, "Are you Trevor Sutherland?" He was tall and on the thin side, and he looked to be perhaps in his early fifties.

Immediately impressed with the man's demeanor and professional appearance, Trevor responded obediently, "Yes, sir."

"I'm Inspector Rush, Washington, DC Police Department," he offered, reaching forward to shake Trevor's hand. "I understand that you saw Miss Carey go overboard. Is that right?"

"Yes, sir, that is quite correct."

"And you are certain that she jumped, that she was neither thrown overboard nor coerced to jump by anyone?"

"Yes, sir," Trevor responded yet again.

"So there is no evidence of a crime here," Inspector Rush murmured to himself. He paused for a moment to see if there was a reply from Trevor and, hearing none, he added, "Okay, thank you, Mr. Sutherland. Could you please write down for me your home address and your address at UVa? And please include a phone number where you can be reached."

"Yes, sir," Trevor replied and, immediately undertaking the assigned task, he subsequently handed the information to the inspector.

Inspector Rush said distantly, "Thank you. You may go, Mr. Sutherland."

"Wait a minute," Trevor responded doubtfully, "I can go? I say, what shall I tell everyone back in Charlottesville?"

"For now, just tell them that Miss Carey has disappeared. And rest assured, I will be in touch, Mr. Sutherland."

"Might I have your card, sir," Trevor queried deferentially.

"Sure," Inspector Rush replied brusquely and, digging a card out of his pocket, he handed it to Trevor, adding, "If you don't hear from Miss Carey, call me in a couple of days. And if you do hear from her, call me immediately, okay?"

"Yes, sir," Trevor replied, and so saying, he headed aft in quest of his coat.

Inspector Rush caught his arm as he turned and, his eyes narrowing in apparent accusation, he asked one final question, "By the way, what in hell is the son of the British Ambassador to the United States doing pimping a strip show on the side, Mr. Sutherland?"

Caught completely by surprise, Trevor wheeled around in mid-stride and blurted in stupefaction, "Whaaaat? What did you say, sir?"

"Alright, I found out what I wanted to know," the inspector responded, nonetheless eyeing him suspiciously, "You really don't know what you've gotten yourself into, do you, Mr. Sutherland!" But this last was clearly not a question at all.

"Sir, I was not pimping for Miss Carey. I was actually trying to do her a favor. She volunteered to do this one show for the purpose of raising sufficient funds to stay in school at UVa. And I would be remiss if I did not also say this - she wasn't supposed to strip!"

"And how did she find out about this show, may I ask?"

"I'm afraid I told her about it," he lied, "She performed her act on one other occasion, at my frat house in Charlottesville in October, but she didn't remove any articles of clothing on that occasion. So far as I am aware, that was the only time, sir."

"And by pure chance you happened to be at both shows, right?"

"Yes, sir, that is quite correct. Sir, I'm not proud of what I did, but I certainly did nothing illegal, and she performed on both occasions voluntarily. When you locate her I'm quite certain she will verify that."

"Good to know, assuming that we do in fact find her," Inspector Rush responded suspiciously.

Intending to defend himself further, Trevor stammered, "Sir..." but Inspector Rush had already turned away to pursue other matters.

Disembarking a short time later, Trevor noticed that he was in fact the first person that had been allowed to leave the yacht. Once he had arrived in the parking lot, he suddenly realized that he had no idea what to do, if indeed anything at all. In the event, he climbed into his car, intending to drive home. Spotting Rebecca's discarded clothes on the passenger floorboard, he emitted a single despondent sob, the self-revulsion at what he had just been party to only now beginning to sink in.

Now at a complete loss, he sat at the wheel of his car for several minutes, unable to summon the energy to so much as move. Eventually, his senses reemerging, he resolved to develop some sort of plan of action. After all, he couldn't just turn around and drive back to campus.

Rethinking the events leading up to Rebecca's disappearance, he asked himself - had the ship been going downriver or upriver when she had gone overboard? He considered this question at length, eventually concluding that the yacht must have been going downriver. If his conclusion was indeed correct, then she had jumped overboard towards the west shore of the Potomac, and since it had taken two hours for the yacht to return to the dock, she had most likely gone into the river between ten and twenty miles south of Washington.

Based on this reckoning, he decided to drive south along the Washington Parkway in the hope that she had swam ashore. Accordingly, he searched along the parkway for two hours, eventually deeming it a waste of time. Had she been standing directly by the side of the road, he doubted he would have been able to spot her at all in the dark. With no alternative at hand, he found an all-night diner, picking at a breakfast of eggs and toast as he impatiently awaited daylight to emerge.

On a whim, he pulled out his video camera and, carefully rewinding it, he began viewing the footage. As he watched, his face reddened at the guilt he felt at having made a movie of her performance. While he had initially convinced himself that he had determined to make it in the offhand event that she might want to continue to do the act, in the light of what had transpired, he now forced himself to admit that he had actually filmed her with the intent of having his own private movie of her. Sitting in a dingy diner, watching a covert film of an innocent woman who by now might well be dead, he finally caste the blame for her demise where it surely belonged – on himself.

Perhaps equally important, he now realized that whether she was yet alive or not, his life would surely be in danger if anyone at all found out that he had made a movie of the horrific crime perpetrated within the film. Unable to bring himself to watch further footage at the moment, he switched the camera off, deciding instead that he should hide a copy in a safe place as soon as possible.

Shortly after sunrise he reinitiated his search along the parkway, concentrating on the area from Arcturus to Gunston Manor. He drove around for several hours, inquiring of people along the shoreline here and there whether they had seen a woman emerging from the river. When he had a clear view of the river he could see that, just as he was, the Coast Guard was out cruising up and down the shoreline searching for her. By noon, it being apparent that he was wasting his time, he determined to drive back to Charlottesville.

Arriving back at campus by midafternoon, he drove directly to the frat house. Bryan answered the knock on his door, Trevor querying shakily, "Hey, Bry, how are you?"

"Hey, what's up, Trevor?" Bryan inquired offhandedly.

"Can I come in? I'm in a mess, Bry."

"Sure, what's up? Girl trouble, or school trouble?"

"Neither. Hold on a minute. Check that. Actually - possibly both," Trevor replied in torment.

"What the..." Bryan mumbled vacuously.

Catching Bryan's eye, Trevor exclaimed forlornly, "Rebecca disappeared in DC last night, Bryan."

"You're kidding!" Bryan exclaimed in shock. "What happened? Did she do her act?"

"Yeah, she did the show, Bry. She performed in her outfit, but from there things became quite horrific, if you must know. She eventually stripped all the way, under duress, I might add, and then some guy raped her, right in front of his guests. It was really revolting to watch. Afterwards, they dragged her off the stage. As for me, I was so upset that I went up on deck to get some air. That was when Rebecca jumped overboard and, as far as I know, they still haven't found her."

Rising from his chair, Bryan blurted, "Dear Lord!" Placing one hand on his hip and scratching his head with the other, he exclaimed, "My God, Trevor, what a mess. Damn, I hope she's okay. Maybe she swam ashore. Maybe she's alright."

"I doubt that quite seriously, Bry."

"Why do you say that?"

"Perhaps you weren't listening to me - she was raped, and in full view of the guests!"

"Yes, I heard you. So what are you getting at?"

"I've been thinking about it. There seem to be four possibilities. First, she may have committed suicide. I doubt that she would do that, but under the circumstances, she may have done so if for no other reason than that she couldn't live with what that guy did to her. I mean, it was really bad, Bry."

"Okay," he responded forlornly, "Let's assume that isn't the case. What are the other three possibilities?"

"Second possibility - she could have drowned in the river. I also doubt that possibility. If she hadn't been a good swimmer, she wouldn't have gone over the side, assuming her intention had been to swim for it. Besides, when she dove in, it was a pretty spectacular dive. She appeared as if she'd had plenty of experience in the water."

"Okay, what else?"

"That leaves the third possibility - that she made it to shore, but that guy's associates tracked her down and they have by now captured her, or, the fourth possibility - she made it ashore, and is now on the run from them. After all, had she made it to shore and not gone into hiding, she would have surfaced by now."

"So what you're telling me is that three of the four possibilities are either bad or worse than bad."

"I'm afraid so, Bry. And if so, I could well be in big trouble. But let's take the last possibility for a moment \- the only potentially positive one - at least from her standpoint. If she did indeed escape, and she manages to reach the authorities, then the guy who raped her could well be in a bind. The authorities could file rape charges against him. And that guy looked pretty slimy if you ask me. My guess is he owns that yacht, in which case he has plenty of money, and he shall be making plans at this very moment to intercept Rebecca for the purpose of ensuring that it appears that she didn't make it out of the Potomac alive."

"My God!" Bryan replied. "Geez, Trevor. What have you gotten yourself into?"

"Me?! I didn't cause this all by myself! You had a hand in it, too! You're the one that told me about the party."

"Hey, I don't know anything! Miguel told me about it. He heard it from somebody - I can't remember who - and since he had attended her performance at the Halloween party, he immediately thought of Rebecca."

"I'm going to see Miguel. I shall be back shortly," Trevor replied, stalking out of the room. Ten minutes later he was back.

"What did Miguel say?" Bryan queried the moment he reentered.

"Don't know. He's not here today. Nobody knows where he is. Would you mind doing some checking?"

"No problem. Let me make a couple of calls." Bryan called a couple of friends, but nobody had seen Miguel since the previous night.

"What a disaster," Trevor mumbled to himself. "Right, I'm going to go back to do some further checking. It's quite a long shot, but I shall see if perhaps she has shown up here. Call me when Mitguel turns up, okay?"

"Yeah, will do," Bryan replied.

A Short Time Later

**Arriving at the Phi Delta house a short time later, Trevor called Rebecca's room** from the lobby. When there was no answer, he dialed her friend Sarah's number.

Within a few moments she answered, saying, "Hello?"

"Sarah," he blurted breathlessly, "This is Trevor Sutherland."

"Oh, hey," she responded noncommittally, "What's up?"

Relieved to finally make contact with anyone at all, he dithered, "How are you."

"Are you looking for Rebecca?" she put in, "Because if you are, she's not in. I don't know where she is today."

"I say, could you perhaps come down to the lobby, Sarah? I assure you, it's quite important."

"Sure," she replied, "I'll be right down."

Appearing moments later, she approached him with a puzzled look, at which he blurted despondently, "I'm afraid Rebecca has disappeared, Sarah. When was the last time you saw her?"

"Disappeared!" she responded in disbelief, "What are you saying?"

"She disappeared last night in DC," he replied, repeating pointedly, "When was the last time you saw her?"

"Yesterday morning. We had breakfast together. She said she was going for a drive later, and she wouldn't be back till late."

"Right. She went with me, Sarah. We drove to Washington together."

"What on earth for, Trevor?"

"Perhaps I shouldn't tell you, but I drove her there so that she might put on her act."

"What act?"

"The Halloween act," he admitted.

"What? You mean the thing she did at the Halloween party?"

"Right," he responded hesitantly.

"What the heck are you talking about, Trevor?"

"Actually, I heard from a friend that you had intimated that Rebecca was having financial problems - that she was perhaps going to have to drop out of college. So when my frat brother heard about this opportunity in DC, he suggested to her that she might be interested in doing her act. To make a long story short, she agreed to do the show, and I agreed to drive her down to Washington for the show."

Immediately paling, Sarah blurted, "Please don't tell me she stripped, Trevor."

"Unfortunately, she did, Sarah."

"How much?"

"How much what?"

"How much did she take off, you idiot!"

"It isn't like that, Sarah. She was supposed to just dance around like she did at Halloween, and it did in fact start out that way. But then this guy whispered in her ear, and she subsequently took everything off."

"My goodness! Why'd he do that?" But at his silent and forlorn stare, she suddenly added, "No! Tell me it isn't so!"

"I'm afraid it is," he responded and, tears streaming down his face, he confessed, "He raped her."

Her eyes flashing, she hauled off and slapped the living crap out of him, exclaiming, "You jerk! It was all your doing, wasn't it! I've been wondering why she's been so morose lately. How'd you talk her into doing the show, you jerk?"

"I didn't!" he denied, "All I did was agree to drive her down to Washington. I was going to try and talk her out of it, but I could see that she was determined. Frankly, I've never seen her like that before. She was in a really strange mood!"

"That's a crock!" she bellowed.

"I'm afraid I don't understand," he countered in apparent confusion.

"I saw the way you treated her at the Halloween party. So you couldn't let it go, could you! You just had to get even, and now, all because of your stupid pride you've gotten her into real trouble, you stupid idiot! I understand now why she calls you a jerk!"

"I say, I am deeply sorry. I'm afraid I've made a mess of things," he replied forlornly.

Eyeing him with disgust, she responded, "What an understatement! What are you going to do now?"

"Frankly, I've no idea," he murmured despondently. "I say, if by chance she shows up, could you call me? I know it looks quite dreadful, Sarah, but I shall endeavor to make up for it. Please?"

"Yeah, yeah, whatever," she responded dismissively, "But if she does show up I'm going to do everything in my power to make sure she never speaks to you again."

"Fair enough. I suppose that I deserve that," he responded and, seeing that she had nothing further to say, he turned on his heel and departed.

American Press International

Washington, DC – December 5, 1968

The U.S. Coast Guard reported this morning that a woman jumped overboard into the Potomac River last night from a yacht owned by wealthy Venezuelan financier and oil magnate Hernando Chavez. The woman, a student at The University of Virginia, has been identified as Rebecca Carey.

There is no word at this time as to why Miss Carey was aboard Mr. Chavez' yacht. Although the Coast Guard and local law enforcement officials have been searching the Potomac River and surroundings for Miss Carey, there is as yet no word as to her whereabouts. Stay tuned for further word on this puzzling incident that may in fact have mounting international repercussions.

Charlottesville – The Following Day

**Trevor awoke** **on** Monday morning to the sound of his phone ringing in his ear. Grasping the receiver with one outstretched hand, he croaked blearily into the mouthpiece, "Hello?"

"Mr. Sutherland?" the voice on the other end queried.

Shaking off the cobwebs, Trevor replied, "Yes, and to whom am I speaking?"

"It's Inspector Rush."

"Good morning, sir. I am quite relieved to hear from you. Is there any word regarding Miss Carey?"

"No, I'm afraid not, Mr. Sutherland. I do have a question for you, though."

"Yes, sir?"

"What was Miss Carey wearing when she went overboard?"

Trevor rubbed his head for a moment and, despite his half-awakened state, he responded with self-assurance, "She was wearing a leotard, sir. If memory serves, that is all she had on."

"If memory serves!" Inspector Rush exclaimed irately, "I doubt that any man alive could forget that. What else might your memory be missing, Mr. Sutherland?"

"Nothing that I can think of, sir."

"What color was it?"

"What color was what?"

"The leotard, you idiot!"

"Oh, right. It was black. I'm quite certain of that, sir."

"The Coast Guard picked up an article of clothing in the river near Mount Vernon. I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you to return to Washington, Mr. Sutherland."

"Why ever for?"

"We need you to identify the article of clothing."

"Yes, of course, Inspector Rush. I assume that you need me to come right away?"

"That is correct. You have my card. Please come to the address listed on it. How soon can I expect you, Mr. Sutherland?"

"I expect that I shall be there by noon, sir."

"Excellent. I will see you then."

Washington, DC Police Headquarters – Midday

**Trevor was ushered to** a waiting area by a policeman who stipulated, "Please wait here, sir."

"Thank you," Trevor replied. After several minutes Inspector Rush came out of an office nearby and, approaching Trevor, he said, "Thank you for coming on short notice, Mr. Sutherland." Trevor arose and the two shook hands. "Please follow me," Inspector Rush added brusquely.

Trailing him into the office, Trevor was surprised to find his mother and father awaiting his arrival within. Summarily launching herself across the small office, Lady Sutherland immediately struck Trevor across the face as hard as she could. For his part, Trevor staggered backwards and nearly fell down but, somehow regaining his footing, he gaped at her, awareness of the magnitude of his predicament slowly setting in.

"You idiot!" she spat at him, "You worthless scumbag! I can't believe that you are indeed my son!"

At this, Lord Sutherland stood and, inserting himself between the pair of combatants, he grasped her gently in a restraining motion, cooing soothingly, "There, there. That will do, Felicité. I should have done it myself, but had I, I might have killed him."

He then turned and, spitting in Trevor's face, he turned back toward his wife, adding matter-of-factly, "At any rate, he should have a tiny inkling where he now stands with his parents."

Throughout this little family squabble Inspector Rush simply stood back with his arms crossed, patiently observing the domestic scene unfold. For his part, Trevor said nothing, aware that at the very least he was in deep trouble both personally and legally.

A few moments of further silence elapsed as the three glared at one another, Trevor continuing to massage his face where Lady Sutherland had struck him.

At length, Trevor turned to Inspector Rush and inquired respectfully, "Is there any word? Have they found Miss Carey? Is she alive?"

Inspector Rush replied, "No, they haven't found her yet. They have begun dredging the river. But there is no further word at this time."

Still stroking his now rubicund face, Trevor volunteered, "I should like to help in any way that I can, sir."

Rounding on her son at this, Lady Sutherland narrowed her eyes and hissed vehemently, "No, you shan't, Trevor! You are hereby forbidden from this moment to have anything whatsoever to do with this unfortunate situation, am I understood?"

"But why, mother?"

"You fool! It is going to be difficult enough to keep the family name out of this. If you continue to be involved, it could damage our family, and still worse, it could create an international incident between the U.S. and Great Britain, and perhaps even Venezuela." She halted and, glaring at him momentarily, she subsequently exclaimed, "You really have no idea what you've gotten yourself into, have you!"

Trevor stared at her and, his face draining of all color, he uttered disconsolately, "Yes, mother. I understand. I understand all too well. And I promise you, I shall obey your wishes."

"You had better obey me, young man, because if you do not, you shall most certainly wish that you had."

Still smarting at the force of her blow, he replied sullenly, "Yes, mother."

Lady Sutherland now squared her shoulders and, proceeding towards the door, she announced without so much as a backward glance, "I shall deal with you further as soon as Inspector Rush is quite finished with you. You are to come straight home." And then she was gone from the room.

Inspector Rush now announced to Ambassador Sutherland, "I will see that he comes directly to your residence when I am finished with him, sir."

Ambassador Sutherland turned to the inspector and responded politely, "We shall be at home awaiting his arrival. Thank you for your patience and understanding, Inspector," and at this he too departed.

Inspector Rush then turned to Trevor, commanding, "You should probably have a seat, Mr. Sutherland. I'm afraid that we are not finished here." Taking his seat behind his desk, he added perfunctorily, "Now, I am taping this conversation," and as he said this he punched a tape recorder, subsequently ordering, "Please signify that you understand that I am taping our conversation, Mr. Sutherland."

Aware for the first time just how serious the situation, Trevor responded in wide-eyed bewilderment, "Yes, sir, I understand." He then inquired inanely, "Do you want me to identify the article of clothing?"

"Mr. Sutherland, there is no article of clothing. That was simply a ruse to persuade you to return to Washington."

"Why ever for, sir?"

"For questioning, but more importantly, so that we could serve the warrant."

"Warrant? What warrant?"

"The Charlottesville police searched your room while you were in route to Washington," he replied matter-of-factly.

At this Trevor paled but said nothing.

Inspector Rush now opened a dossier and, perusing it at length, he eventually cleared his throat in preamble, "Now then, let me see if I have this correct. You escorted Miss Carey to perform her show at the party on the yacht. Is that correct?"

"Yes, sir. That is correct."

"Were you aware of the nature of the event?"

"In what way?"

"Did you know that Miss Carey would engage in sex with one or more of the attendees at the party?"

"No, sir! Had I known that, I would most certainly have discouraged her from performing her act."

"So she _did_ in fact have sex at the party!"

"What!" Trevor responded, "You just said she did!"

"No, sir, I did not! In point of fact, you did, Mr. Sutherland."

Realizing his gaffe, Trevor responded miserably, "You tricked me!"

"It is nonetheless true, is it not?"

"Yes, I suppose there is no denying it at this point, Inspector."

"And you encouraged her to engage in such an act?"

"No, sir! That was not a part of her act at all!"

"Her act? Are you implying that she had performed on previous occasions?"

"Yes, sir, I already told you that part. She performed on one other occasion, at a Halloween party in Charlottesville."

"And you were also present on that occasion?"

"Yes, sir."

"So you were pimping for Miss Carey, is that correct?"

"No, sir!"

"Oh, come now, Mr. Sutherland. We have evidence to the contrary."

"Evidence? What evidence?" Trevor blurted in bewilderment.

"Sir, we have located your scorecard within your room at the fraternity house in Charlottesville."

All color suddenly draining from his face, Trevor gurgled, "Scorecard?"

"There is no point in denying it, Mr. Sutherland, you have been keeping a dossier of your conquests, most likely for the purpose of blackmailing them, as you so skillfully perpetrated on Miss Carey."

At this Trevor responded in sheer terror, "Inspector Rush, I believe that I would like to speak to an attorney," adding clumsily, "At this point I have nothing more to say."

At this pronouncement Inspector Rush leaned forward and, placing his face close to Trevor's, he snarled reprovingly, "I should think that you would have quite a bit more to say, Mr. Sutherland. You are in one hell of a lot of trouble, young man!"

Trevor responded fearfully, "Sir, I admit that I have made some regrettable mistakes. However, I have done nothing whatsoever illegal. I should like to speak to an attorney now."

"You're going to need one, Mr. Sutherland! And, by the way, don't look for consolation from your parents. They've already seen a photocopy of the evidence," Inspector Rush replied, and at this he stood up and stormed out of the office.

Trevor's one phone call was to his father, who had already arranged for a lawyer to come down to the station. Trevor was released two hours later. Although no charges were as yet filed, he was forced to surrender his passport, and he was required to report his whereabouts at all times.

Thereafter Trevor drove directly to his parents' ambassadorial residence in Alexandria, whereupon he was treated to a second and more intense round of castigation by his parents. He was given a set of instructions as to his acceptable behavior for the time being and permission was granted for him to return to Charlottesville solely for the purpose of completing the final two weeks of the current term.

Charlottesville – The Following Day

**On his return to campus, Trevor found** that the circumstances of Rebecca's disappearance had somehow become public knowledge. The news had spread that Trevor was at the root of her demise and, still worse, that he could have averted the tragedy had he been so inclined. The uproar far surpassing anything that he could have expected, he concluded that someone had intervened, as every one of his friends had suddenly stopped speaking to him.

Tired and distraught after two days on campus attempting to persuade friend and foe that he was not at fault, he had no choice but to leave school and go home until things quieted down somewhat. He thus drove back to Alexandria, where he continued to face the wrath of his mother, who informed him that had his father not interceded he would have already been expelled from UVa.

Alexandria – The Following Day

**Trevor sprawled listlessly within** the living room, completely at a loss for something useful to do. Eventually the butler entered the room, announcing that Inspector Rush had arrived for the purpose of seeing Trevor. Ushered into the living room, the inspector failed to so much as say hello before exclaiming, "Mr. Sutherland, why didn't you tell me that Mr. Chavez raped Miss Carey onboard the yacht?"

At this rather brash intrusion, Trevor replied circumspectly, "I say, it didn't seem important when we first talked. After all, she had just gone missing, and I was at that point quite concerned about her welfare. By the second time we met, there were other issues on everyone's minds."

"So he _DID_ rape her!" Inspector Rush responded accusingly.

"What!" Trevor responded in confusion, "You just said he did, Inspector."

"On the contrary, you did, Mr. Sutherland. I simply queried you about it, and you confirmed it."

"Damn! You trapped me yet again, inspector."

"That's a crock!" Inspector Rush responded. "You are one hell of a piece of work, Mr. Sutherland. It seems that everything is about protecting your own ass. You are the worst kind of scum in my opinion. Has it ever even _entered_ your mind that Miss Carey may have drowned that night, or worse, that she may even have been murdered?"

"Yes, sir, of course it has," Trevor responded forlornly.

"Would you be willing to testify in court that you saw her raped, Mr. Sutherland?"

"Could I check with my lawyer before answering that question, sir? He has advised me not to talk with you unless he is present."

"A simple yes or no will do, Mr. Sutherland. Would you be willing to testify?"

"Sir, I most certainly want to, for Miss Carey's sake. That is all that I can say at this moment."

At this Inspector Rush frowned menacingly at Trevor and requested, "Mr. Sutherland, would you mind asking your mother to join us here for a moment?"

"Why?"

"Just do it, please," Inspector Rush remonstrated.

Uncertain as to why he had been detailed to do so, Trevor went in search of his mother, who was at this point still not speaking to him. Nonetheless, when he found her, she agreed to meet with the pair of them.

Upon entering the room, Lady Sutherland offered politely, "How nice to see you again, Inspector Rush. What may I do for you today?"

"Nice to see you, too, Lady Sutherland. I know that you must be busy, so I will get right to the point of my visit. Did you know that Rebecca Carey was raped by Hernando Chavez on the night that she disappeared?"

"What!" Lady Sutherland blurted and, grasping her throat, she exclaimed, "Surely not, Inspector. How horrible!" She then turned and, eyeing Trevor sternly, she appeared to weigh his reaction to this disclosure.

"Your son has just corroborated the fact, Lady Sutherland. He appears to have witnessed the rape," Inspector Rush put in.

"Good God, Trevor!" she exclaimed, "What in heaven's name is going on? It has been more than a week since that young lady disappeared, and you are just getting around to disclosing that she was raped? Although I doubt that anything you could utter would justify such reprehensible behavior, do you have anything to say for yourself?"

"Mother, I've made quite a mess of things. Believe me when I say that I've been trying since that night to set things right. Unfortunately, I've not been doing a very good job of it. Please, mother, I need your help. I am afraid that without your help, I shall make yet a worse mess of it!"

At this she eyed him sternly and exclaimed, "Trevor, I'm afraid that I cannot help you if you cannot see your way to tell the truth."

"Mother, the lawyer has advised me to say nothing to Inspector Rush," Trevor replied. "I want to answer him, but I've been advised not to."

"To hell with the lawyer, Trevor! If you want my help, then tell Inspector Rush the truth. Tell him the whole truth!" and it was clear from her tone that she was not making a suggestion.

"Yes, mother," Trevor replied, and at this he immediately turned to Inspector Rush, volunteering, "Yes sir, I would be willing to testify that I saw Hernando Chavez rape Miss Carey."

"Alright, Mr. Sutherland," Inspector Rush supplied and, his eyes narrowing in accusation, he expounded, "I am certainly glad that you are not a relation of mine, because if you were, I would at this very moment be flaying you alive, you insignificant little piece of worm dung."

At this Inspector Rush glared silently at Trevor, clearly awaiting a response, indeed any response at all. Hearing none, he added, "Do not stray far, Mr. Sutherland. In fact, I would go so far as to say that it would be inadvisable for you to so much as leave this house. I will have more questions for you very soon."

"Yes, sir," Trevor replied, but by then Inspector Rush had already left the room.

Lady Sutherland simply stood frowning at her son, apparently mystified as to what on earth had possessed him to behave so disgracefully. For his part, Trevor could not remember the last time that he had seen his own mother utterly speechless. It was perhaps the most disheartening revelation in his entire life \- the realization that he had lost his own mother's endearment and respect.

Alexandria – A Week Later

**Trevor suffered through an entire week** , during which he paced incessantly about like a caged animal. He felt a desperate compulsion to do something, indeed anything at all, but there was little that could be done but to wait. At length, he found himself unable to concentrate on anything whatsoever beside Rebecca.

At one point he wrote her a letter, but immediately thereafter he tore it up and threw it away. Two days later he wrote her another letter, but he tore it up as well. Words would not, indeed could not suffice. He was for the first time in his life confronted with an impossible situation, one that can neither be solved nor reconciled, thus presenting an even more sickening alternative – the incomprehensible realization that there was no alternative but to live with it.

After ten interminable torture-ridden days, the phone finally rang. It was Inspector Rush. "Mr. Sutherland, I am calling to tell you that the district attorney has decided that no charges will be filed. Under the circumstances, you are free to get on with your life."

"I don't understand, Inspector...what do you mean by 'no charges will be filed'? Against me, or against Mr. Chavez?"

"No charges will be filed against either of you. Every attendee at the party except you has denied having seen a rape onboard. And since the chief witness has either disappeared or worse, it is not possible to pursue the rape charge at this time. Thus, since a charge of rape is out of the question, it has been determined by the District Attorney that there is insufficient evidence to charge you with a crime as well."

"Whew!" Trevor responded in relief, "So I can move on."

At this Inspector Rush offered, "Mr. Sutherland, may I give you a piece of advice?"

Wanting no part of the inspector's guidance but afraid to say no, Trevor replied meekly, "Yes, sir."

Inspector Rush admonished, "You have participated in some highly reprehensible activities. These actions would appear to me to be leading you on a direct path towards a life of crime. You, sir, are at a crossroads. If you do not significantly alter your behavior immediately, your life will spiral downwards into a place aptly described in Dante's _Inferno_. Get your act together, Mr. Sutherland, and do it now, or the next time I see you, you will either be in prison, or worse, you will be stone cold on a metal table. Mark my words, Mr. Sutherland, you can still right your life, but you must take heroic measures very soon in order to do so."

Trevor responded dejectedly, "Yes, sir. Thank you for your advice," and, hearing the abrupt click on the other end, he hung up the phone.

That afternoon Trevor made a copy of the video that he had made that night on the yacht. The following day he rented a safety deposit box and placed the original video within it. He sealed the copy in a metal box and buried it in the woods.

Realizing that his college days were over, he didn't bother attempting to return to UVa. Having lost the confidence of his parents, he simply lollygagged about at home, attempting to determine what he might do to restore his sense of self respect, not to mention his entire life.

A week later Trevor's last remaining friend Bryan graduated from the University of Virginia and was commissioned into the U.S. Army. With two weeks leave before he was supposed to report to Fort Bragg, Bryan came to see Trevor for one last visit in Alexandria, whereupon he found Trevor in a state of extreme depression. He did his best to coax Trevor from his melancholy, but it was no good. After two days, Bryan said his goodbyes to Trevor and set out for his first military posting.

The following day Trevor Sutherland enlisted in the U.S. Army.
Chapter 5

In Quest of Manhood

Alexandria – January, 1969

**Trevor hoisted the telephone to his ear and said** , "Hello? Who is it?"

"Trevor, it's Vanessa," the voice on the other end responded.

"Vanessa...oh, Vanessa!" he replied in recognition, adding, "How are you?"

"I've been better," she responded blandly, "Listen, Trevor, I'm in town. Could we possibly meet for lunch?"

"Why, certainly," he replied, "Nothing would make me happier. When? Where?"

"Let's say, the Capitol Diner, in half an hour?"

"Excellent! See you then," he replied.

A Half Hour Later

**From her vantage point, Vanessa** could make him out even before he tugged the door to the restaurant open and, waving as he entered, she called, "Trevor! Over here!"

Spotting her immediately, he trotted her way, taking her within a polite embrace on arriving at her table. He then volunteered pleasantly, "I say, how have you been, Vanessa?"

"Not too good, I'm afraid," she responded and, eyeing him carefully, she proffered, "But, from everything I've heard, better than you."

Attempting to minimize the import of her comment, he prevaricated, "Right. Well, life does come at one rather quickly, I suppose."

"So, what have you heard? Is there any word regarding Rebecca's whereabouts?"

Eyes downcast, he responded, "No, I'm afraid not."

"Well, surely you are not to blame, Trevor," she commiserated.

Eyeing her doubtfully, he replied, "You're the first person to say that, Vanessa. And while it may not be completely accurate, I can't say how much I appreciate it."

Reaching forward she placed her hand on his, suggesting, "Well, at this point all we can do is hope for the best."

"I suppose you're right," he murmured thoughtfully, but then brightening, he queried, "What brings you to DC?"

"Actually you, if truth be told."

"Oh, how so?" he blurted vacuously.

"Trevor, there is no other way to say this, so I'm going to just come right out with it – I'm afraid I'm pregnant."

"What?" he said and, blinking in uncertainty, he murmured, "What did you say?"

"You heard me – I'm pregnant."

Since she could see that he was doing the math in his head, she interjected, "Yes, of course it's yours. I've already counted the days, and there can be no doubt of it. You are going to be a father, my friend."

"But that can't be!" he mumbled, "I just joined the Army!"

"Yes, I heard," she observed, "Would that either of us had divulged our rather complicated circumstances sooner."

They were married three days later.

Fort Hood, Texas - January, 1969

**Trevor stared from the window** as the bus pulled up to the main entrance to the fort, the guard saluting as he waved the vehicle through. Shortly thereafter, the bus came to a stop adjacent to a small wooden building. Fifteen disheveled looking young men disembarked, each carrying a single piece of luggage. Most members of the group appeared to be little older than school boys.

A single hawk drifted with the air currents overhead, literally nothing else moving as far as the eye could see. Although it was mid-winter, the heat was searing and muggy, the sun pouring down relentlessly from a cloudless sky like a cascade of boiling water.

Trevor searched his field of view for something, anything noteworthy at all. Every building within eyesight appeared to be a dilapidated holdover from the Great Depression, each devoid of even the slightest hint of artistic endeavor, and every one badly in need of a coat of regenerative paint.

Eventually he noticed movement – a single man in uniform off in the distance striding toward the group, seemingly advancing from nowhere through the waves of heat roiling up from the blacktop surface. Smirking to himself, Trevor suspected that he and his fellow volunteers were about to begin their military careers in earnest.

As the man came closer Trevor could tell from the numerous stripes on his sleeves that he was some sort of noncommissioned officer. Possessed of an enormous barrel chest, he was quite imposing in stature. When he came within several yards of the group, he stopped and, speaking authoritatively, he offered, "Gentlemen, I am Sergeant Stokes. If you will, please follow me!" He then turned abruptly on his heel and strode briskly in the direction from whence he had appeared. It was immediately apparent to one and all that anyone who did not follow him would be shown scant mercy if any at all.

Pursuing him relentlessly, Trevor kept pace despite his bag, but several of the boys inevitably began falling behind almost immediately. After a couple of hundred yards Sergeant Stokes glanced nonchalantly toward the rapidly dispersing ensemble and, turning back in the direction that he was walking, he yelled over his shoulder, "Better keep up, gentlemen. I can assure you, you won't like the result of the alternative!"

At this, all but one of the now terrified young men broke into a trot in order to catch up. By the time Sergeant Stokes halted some minutes later in front of a squat building, only one recruit had lagged far behind. Sergeant Stokes turned and waited patiently until the wayward laggard arrived, then queried, "Name?"

The boy, now covered in sweat and panting profusely, mumbled inanely, "Huh?"

"That would be – Huh, Sergeant Stokes!" Sergeant Stokes responded assertively.

"Huh?" the boy repeated in obvious confusion.

"What is your name, son?"

The youngster peered at him in growing fear and, realizing what had been asked of him, he responded, "Ronny, sir."

"Ronny who, son?"

"Ronny Smith, sir!"

"Okay, now we're getting somewhere! Private Smith, I am Sergeant Stokes. I am not a commissioned officer. Therefore, you will not address me as sir! You will end every sentence addressed to me with the two words 'Sergeant Stokes'. Got that, Private Smith?"

"Yes, sir - I mean - yes, Sergeant Stokes!"

"Excellent, Private Smith! Now give me fifty pushups as a measure of your everlasting gratitude and devotion."

"What?"

"What WHAT, Private Smith?"

"What, Sergeant Stokes!" the by-now terrorized and clearly bewildered young man replied.

"Excellent, Private Smith. Now, give me one hundred pushups. And don't say _WHAT_ or you'll be doing a hundred and fifty!"

Private Smith dropped to the ground and commenced his assigned duty. By this point two of the boys had begun snickering at Private Smith's demise. Sergeant Stokes queried as he pointed at the pair, "Names?"

"Wilson," one replied.

"Fifty pushups Private Wilson, got that?"

"Yes, Sergeant Stokes," the wayward boy replied woefully, and at this he dropped to the ground for the purpose of completing his assignment.

The second boy just kept on snickering, prompting Sergeant Stokes to stride over to him and shout directly in his face, "Name!"

Grinning knowingly at him, the boy announced proudly, "I'm Bobby Farmer. Pleased to meet ya, Sergeant Stokes!"

Sergeant Stokes bellowed, "Fifty pushups for laughing at your buddy's demise, and another fifty for insubordination. Hit it, Private Farmer." At this Private Farmer, still sporting his ludicrous grin, dropped to the ground to commence his well-earned penance.

While the three guinea pigs were working off their collective misfortunes, Sergeant Stokes turned to the remainder of the group, inquiring, "Which of you is Sutherland?"

Trevor replied, "I am Private Sutherland, Sergeant Stokes."

Sergeant Stokes came over to him and observed, "Congratulations, Private Sutherland, you are the only British national that I have ever met in the _entire_ U. S. Army. So what's your problem, Private Sutherland?"

"Problem? There is no problem at all, Sergeant Stokes," Trevor replied nonchalantly.

"Bull crap!" Sergeant Stokes spat out. "No foreigner volunteers in this here army without having some sort of problem. Or perhaps you haven't heard - there's a war going on, and U.S. soldiers are dying in that war!"

"Yes, I am aware of the war in Vietnam, Sergeant Stokes," Trevor responded matter-of-factly.

"Well, we'll just see about you not having a problem, Private Sutherland. We'll just see about that, all in good time. And you're a damn limey, which makes two problems!" He turned away from Trevor and instructed the entire group, "Before I'm through with you sniveling bunch of skinny kids, you will all wish that you had never gotten off that bus. Now get your skinny asses into that building there, where Corporal Long will give each of you a real stylish coiffure fit for a Hollywood movie star."

By the end of the day Trevor had lost every bit of his most prized possession - his long flowing black hair. Subsequently, they had all been issued the saddest looking set of uniforms imaginable, the entire group going out for a 'walk' immediately thereafter. Trevor had discovered within minutes that a 'walk' really meant a military drill that lasted for three hours in the most unimaginably searing part of the hottest day that he had ever experienced in his entire life.

Thereafter, he had been ordered to shower with the fourteen other young men. It was the first time in his entire life that a cold shower had exceeded the pleasure of a hot one, and by a sizable margin at that. After showering they had been immediately ordered to suit up and had marched off to the mess hall, arriving there already hot and sweaty within minutes of their showers, only to be treated to an absolutely disgusting dinner of shoe-leather steak and freeze-dried potatoes.

Immediately after dinner they had marched to yet another dilapidated building, where they had been subjected to a mind-numbing two-hour lecture by Sergeant Stokes on the maintenance and use of the M-1 rifle. They had then marched back to the barracks that they had been informed was to be their home for the succeeding three months, arriving after nine in the evening. They were immediately instructed that lights out was at 10 P.M., and first call in the morning would be at 4:30. Thus ended his first day in the United States Army as Trevor, totally exhausted, fell immediately into his bunk and drifted into welcome slumber.

For the first time in weeks he slept like a baby. Though small, it was the very first positive thing to happen to him since that incomprehensible night on the Potomac. Each day thereafter became a mindless succession of drilling and sweating, sweating and eating, drilling and sleeping, one after another in rapid succession. Life dwindled down to very simple elements – eat, dress, march, march, march, and occasionally – sleep. And most important of all, whatever Sergeant Stokes ordered - do it - no questions asked.

After a week of nonstop drilling, the entire platoon marched to the firing range, where they were treated to a two-hour demonstration on the use of a variety of firearms. The following day they returned to the firing range, whereupon each of them was issued an M-1 rifle and carefully instructed in its proper use. Sergeant Stokes then picked eight of the soldiers for the firing line and, instructing them to fire off single shots until their clips were empty, he ordered them to center their shots on the bull's eyes at the far end of the range. The eight soldiers took their positions, Sergeant Stokes announcing, "All clear on the firing line. Clear on the left. Clear on the right. Commence firing!"

Private Smith instantaneously loosed off his entire clip automatically, the final seven shots flying off well into the air as his rifle bucked upwards from his own misuse of the weapon.

Sergeant Stokes immediately screamed at the top of his lungs, "Cease firing! All cease firing!" He then strolled nonchalantly over to Private Smith and, brusquely yanking the weapon from the soldier's grasp, he bellowed, "Give me that firearm! You could have killed someone, you fool!" For his part, Private Sanders stood silently in abject fear, obviously afraid to utter a single word.

Sergeant Stokes summarily announced, "This is a semi-automatic weapon, gentlemen. If you continue to depress the trigger, it will fire off all eight rounds in succession, seven of which will end up somewhere halfway between here and Fort Stockton! Step aside, Private Smith. I will now demonstrate the proper use of the M-1 rifle." He forthwith reloaded the weapon, shouldered it and loosed off eight rounds in succession at three second intervals, each one striking the target at fifty yards.

He then handed the weapon back to Private Smith, commanding, "You! Sit out this round. Get over there and sit down!" at which command Private Smith slinked silently over to where the remaining members of the platoon were seated on the ground. "Now, then," Sergeant Stokes exclaimed, "Let's try that again. All clear on the firing line! Commence firing! Fire at will!" The remaining seven soldiers carefully took aim, and each slowly emptied their clips in the general direction of their intended targets. After everyone had ejected their clips, he announced, "Cease firing! All clear on the firing line! Gentlemen, please lower your weapons."

A corporal assigned to the range raced to the targets and fetched them to the sergeant, who forthwith studied each one in succession. Eventually he glanced up, announcing, "Congratulations, gentlemen. Had you been in the jungle in Vietnam, you would all be dead by now! Not a one of you has a clue what you are doing with a firearm. Please be seated. Now, let's see what the remaining seven members of this fine platoon are capable of doing with an M-1 rifle. Please, gentlemen, step up to the firing line!"

The remaining soldiers, Trevor included, stepped forward. "Now, gentlemen, show me what you've got. Shoulder your firearms. All clear on the firing line! Commence firing! Fire at will!" The drill was repeated more or less identically to the previous attempt, except that Sergeant Stokes noticed that one soldier appeared to have an inkling as to what he was about. After the firing had ended, he announced, "Cease firing! Lower your weapons!" As before, the corporal retrieved the targets, Sergeant Stokes perusing this new set carefully. At length he walked over to Trevor, inquiring, "Where did you learn to shoot like that, Private Sutherland?"

Trevor replied, "England, Sergeant Stokes."

"Let me see you do that again, private. Step up to the firing line. All clear on the firing line. Commence firing! Fire at will!"

Trevor shouldered his weapon, sited on the target and loosed off eight bull's eyes in rapid succession, summarily lowering his weapon in military fashion. Grimacing at him, Stokes said, "Wait a minute, private." He then went over to the weapons shed and, returning with an M16A1, he commanded, "Here. Try this," and so saying, he handed the weapon to Trevor. "All clear on the firing line! Commence firing! Fire at will!"

Trevor fired off fifteen rounds within the space of half a minute, every one of them striking the bull's eye of the target. He then lowered his weapon, Sergeant Stokes exclaiming, "Cease firing!" Placing his hands on his hips, he exclaimed, "Well, I'll be! This here limey is just about as fine a marksman as I have ever seen, and it's only the first day of small arms training!"

He then glared at Trevor, summarily blurting out, "We'll see how you do when there's a Viet Cong charging straight at you in the jungle!"

A Week Later

**By now Trevor and his platoon had** gone at it for thirteen straight days without a single break. All fifteen soldiers were by that point in a state of total exhaustion. But amazingly, beneath the delirium and the lost innocence of youth, something positive was beginning to happen to each one of them - they were becoming united - and the source of their unison was their hatred of the by then universally despised Sergeant Stokes.

Trevor understood full well the objective of this seemingly mindless exercise, but he kept it to himself. Although he was the eldest in the group, he also understood that making something of his advanced age was a perfect recipe for failure. His challenge was to blend in, to become one with his fellow foot soldiers. And that was the first lesson that he learned on his long road to redemption – that he was not something special \- but rather, that he was just another insignificant portion of something bigger, and hopefully one day, something also better.

On the fourteenth day Sergeant Stokes formed up the troops at five A.M., announcing, "Men, you are confined to the fort. Dismissed for the remainder of the day!" Under the circumstances, no one seemed to mind that they were confined to the fort, as one and all spent the entire day in the recovery mode - lounging about, chatting, napping, and engaging in pastimes such as playing dominoes and writing letters to home.

Trevor took this, his first real opportunity at leisure, to allocate some time to himself. Unfortunately, by mid-day the horror of his past transgressions came dashing back into his consciousness. The loss of his parents' affection and their subsequent reaction to his enlistment, the destruction of all of his friendships at UVa, and most of all, his inexcusable treatment of Rebecca – the misery that they caused whenever they came to mind - were profoundly beyond his ability to endure.

By the end of the day he realized that his best line of defense against his own burgeoning conscience was absolute exhaustion, the only means of keeping his self-destructive thoughts at bay. He resolved to ensure that he henceforth remained in a state of near-delirium during every waking hour, a sort of natural anesthetic against reality that would hopefully provide him sufficient time to heal his self-inflicted wounds.

He did allow himself one transgression. Actually, it was more of a _Picture of Dorian Gray_ than a transgression – he mounted a photo by his bunk that one of his fraternity brothers had taken of Rebecca and himself at the Halloween party, back before his life had all gone awry. A part of him wanted to remember things that way, before his demise, but another part wanted him to always be aware of the appalling skeleton hidden within his closet.

As it developed, a recovery day was not quite the correct term in his case. Since he was insufficiently exhausted to fend off his demons that night, he slept little for the first time in two weeks. Fortunately, the following day he, along with everyone else in the platoon, was exhausted by midway through the morning drill.

A Month Later

**Trevor and his fellow soldiers were at long last given a free weekend**. Half of the boys took the bus to Waco, excess hormones coercing them into pursuit of female companionship. Deciding to accompany the group, Trevor had no idea why he was doing so. What he did know was that his demons would attack indiscriminately if he were so imprudent as to remain alone in the barracks for an entire day.

The Texas weather having revolted, the group of eight hopped off the bus in downtown Waco at two in the afternoon on a freezing Saturday in February. By necessity, they hastily located the first bar that was open, and though significantly dilapidated, it offered both protection from the elements and access to cold beer - their first line of defense against the reality of life in the U.S. Army. Oblivious to the fact that they were just one more insignificant wave in a long line of home-sick boys who had come this way over the preceding three decades, every one of them managed to get considerably inebriated within the first hour, Trevor included.

Thus lubricated, upon the unanticipated arrival of a lone female within the bar the entire homesick group of buck privates broke into predictable pandemonium, despite the fact that the woman was a bit hard looking, not to mention at least twice the average age of the conscripts. She wore a tight fitting mid-thigh-length dress that accentuated her rather well-endowed frame and, her shoulder-length platinum blonde hair wafting in the breeze, she swayed her hips suggestively as she strutted through the doorway. Despite the encroaching cold, her attire was complimented appealingly with a sun hat and a pair of sun glasses, all of which lent just the right notion that she was perhaps a lady of a certain class.

"Well, hello there, boys. I'm Barbie, like the doll." the woman cooed to the crowd as she removed her sunglasses. "You look like a fine bunch of soldiers. Might one of you be inclined to buy a young lady a drink?"

At this several of the boys instantaneously clamored to offer her a chair. She chose one and turned to the scrawny pimple-faced soldier who had offered the seat to her, responding politely to his gallantry, "Why thank you, you gorgeous man, you. And what might your name be?"

"Jimmy, I mean, James, ma'am," he responded nervously, "but you can sure 'nough call me Jimmy."

"Why, thank you, Jimmy. Such a nice name - Jimmy. I had me a boyfriend named Jimmy once. That boy could sure enough pleasure a woman. He could go all night! How about you, Jimmy? Can you go all night?"

"Why, I don't rightly know, Miss Barbie. But I'll tell you what – I'd sure 'nough like to find out!" at which the entire group broke into spontaneous guffaws.

"Well, Jimmy, we'll just have to see about that. But for the moment, I'll have a Lone Star beer, please."

Thoroughly convinced that he had bounded into the lead for Barbie's affections, Jimmy croaked proudly, "Yes, ma'am!"

Barbie crossed one leg suggestively over the other and, lounging seductively in her chair, she announced to one and all, "Seems I've been told there's a military complex 'round these parts. Might any of you soldiers be stationed at Fort Hood?"

At this pronouncement the boys all broke into jubilant hooting and hollering, the gist of which was meant to imply the single word 'yes', although how that conclusion could have been drawn is anyone's guess.

Barbie's newest devotee Jimmy handed Barbie her beer, at which point she for her part extracted a most evocative swig from it, thereby eliciting appreciative nods from the soldier boys at her consummate beverage-consuming skill. The boys were obviously uniformly enraptured with Barbie, who, seemingly oblivious to her effect on her audience, utilized the proffered beer bottle by direct contact as a means of cooling her heaving cleavage, simultaneously fanning herself with a napkin for several moments, all of which served to dramatically amplify the collective temperature within her immediate surroundings.

At length, her first clandestine objective having been stealthily accomplished, Barbie volunteered nonchalantly, "So, boys, might it be possible that some of you are looking for a little bit of companionship, perhaps of the female persuasion?" This entirely unforeseen inquiry was of course followed by a second cacophonous and widespread eruption of jubilation from the group.

Trevor, the lone erstwhile warrior feeling immune to her feminine charms, had immediately sensed a swindle in the wind. Nonetheless, he determined to maintain his silence, awaiting further as yet uncertain developments.

The crowd now grew silent once again in licentious anticipation of Barbie's next pronouncement. After a seemingly interminable hush, she continued with, "Here's the thing, boys, me and four of my girlfriends are having a party in the trailer right out back there. And I don't mind telling you boys, my girlfriends just _love_ soldier boys. Why, only last weekend they treated a group of soldier boys so good they all four got proposals of marriage. Anyone care to follow me and join in the fun?"

At this every soldier in the bar immediately stood up, that is, with the exception of Trevor. Fortunately for him, he had passed on the third drink, thus he was still somewhat sober, something that could not be said for the others. Still, observing that his fellow soldiers were perplexed at his reluctance, he slowly rose, and the vote was suddenly unanimous.

The boys now headed conjointly for the door and, Barbie leading the erstwhile sheep out back, conveyed her shepherding skills with little more than the sway of her hips. Given the sad state of sobriety of the entire group, such was the enormous power of her otherwise unremarkable feminine wiles. Trevor followed them toward the trailer out back, nonplussed by the woman's forwardness and necessarily wary of the development of otherwise unforeseen problems.

Sure enough, the trailer was a trap. Hanging back to the last, Trevor noticed as he entered through the door that four of the boys were already in the process of being bound and gagged by four big guys wearing masks. He immediately shouted to the three of his buddies who were not already in the grasp of assailants, "Bobby, grab the big guy there!" and, pointing at one guy, he added, "Sam, Dan, grab that one!" He himself lit boldly into the other two.

The melee that resulted from his strategy was successful enough that the four remaining boys were able to free themselves from their bonds. Meanwhile, his hands full with two guys, he nevertheless managed to hold his own long enough for the others to regain their senses and come to his rescue. Within minutes, realizing the futility of their ploy, the four assailants scampered from the trailer, leaving eight panting and exhausted boys, all of whom were by now rapidly returning to sobriety.

"Whoa!" yelled Bobby. "We took them sons-of-bitches! Wow! We are one mean fightin' machine!" And with that he loped over to the door and called out, "Come on back, you big durn chickens! Let's us have another round!" and at this pronouncement the entire group commenced to whoop and holler.

Barbie, clearly flustered that her trap had gone awry, nevertheless attempted to maintain the impetus by blustering, "You damn bunch of fools. You done trashed my trailer!"

At this Trevor eyed her dubiously, exclaiming, "I say, where might your lady friends be, Miss Barbie? You know, the ones that you spoke of in the bar. Those four who just left didn't appear to me to be women at all," and at this there ensued a moment of silence during which the boys glanced back and forth between the two unlikely combatants squared off before them.

At length Barbie broke the silence, uttering, "Well, I'm sure I've no idea who those fellows were. And I do appreciate you boys dispatching them so neatly."

"Now, that's much better," Trevor responded politely. "In fact, that's downright gracious of you. Personally, I expect that my friends here are deserving of something special from you in return for their efforts on your behalf."

Barbie eyed him suspiciously, subsequently responding, "What exactly did you have in mind, soldier boy?"

Keenly aware that he now had the upper hand, Trevor responded facetiously, "Well now, let me see. What might be appropriate?" He paused for a moment to allow the silence to enhance the impact of his forthcoming proposition, then added, "Hold on! I may in fact know the perfect solution, Miss Barbie! Surely you could show your appreciation by introducing the boys here to the finer details of the battle of the sexes...you know, something that a nice upstanding lady like you would normally never entertain, but would nevertheless be infinitely well qualified to impart. Given the circumstances, it just seems the thing for you to do to show your appreciation. What do you say, boys, would that meet your collective approval?" At this, the boys hooted their unanimous consent.

Barbie eyed Trevor doubtfully for a moment, then replied, "Why, I find that truly offensive, soldier boy. What kind of lady do you take me for?"

Trevor pondered for a moment, subsequently exclaiming, "Right, I see no purpose served by delving into that issue, Miss Barbie. Let me just put it this way, if you do not show your full appreciation to my friends right this minute, I shall see to it that the authorities are informed that you are running a scam against military personnel."

Narrowing her eyes viciously at Trevor, Barbie responded surreptitiously, "Screw you, soldier boy!"

Hearing this, Trevor immediately advanced three steps toward her and, grabbing her by the waist, he tossed her roughly over his knee and proceeded to give her a judicious spanking. After several corporeal whacks, he pushed her back onto her feet, inquiring politely, "Now, what were you saying, Miss Barbie?"

Grasping her flanks and backing away from him with a feigned look of pain and desolation, she smirked impishly, "You _naughty_ soldier boy!"

Slumping downcast with her lower lip protruding she feigned injury for a few moments, but suddenly exclaimed with apparent resignation, "Aw, what the hell," and, promptly tugging her blouse up to her neck so as to expose her ample qualifications for battle, she inquired, "How many of you boys have ever seen a pair of these hillocks up close and personal?"

At this unanticipated development, every pair of male eyes bulging appropriately, three of the boys happily raised their hands in unison.

At this Barbie cooed expressively, "Well, that IS handy! It seems there's a bit of battlefield experience among you boys." Then she patted herself between her thighs and queried huskily, "And how many of you have ever had the good fortune to slide right down into one of these here foxholes?"

At this only one of the boys raised his hand, the ludicrous grin spreading across his features only serving to electrify the envious uninitiated.

Observing this, she suggested, "Well now, it seems that you members of the armed forces of these here United States of America could use a bit of training in the strategic elimination of battlefield obstacles and subsequent deployment of tactical weapons as pertains to reaching your military objectives."

As the apparently about-to-be-enlightened soldier boys screamed with delight at this pronouncement, Barbie smiled and volunteered self-assuredly, "Okay, I believe that I might be just the right person to provide the necessary strategic training, thereby leading to the removal of those obstacles so that you fine young men could deploy your firearms strategically within the field of battle. I believe that I could provide that training for, say, two hundred dollars!"

Trevor glared sternly at her for several moments and, thenceforth smiling broadly, he countered with, "I say, Miss Barbie, in my view these soldiers deserve battlefield training, absolutely free of charge for bravely serving their country, and I can tell from your extraordinary qualifications that you are just the person to undertake such a patriotic endeavor."

She gaped hesitantly at him, but realizing that she was outnumbered and outflanked, she replied sullenly, "Okay, I see your point, big boy." She contemplated her options momentarily, but suddenly smiling pleasantly, she announced, "Tell you what I'll do. I'll provide you boys with a comprehensive accounting of every strategic site within the field of battle, absolutely guaranteed to make every one of your firearms spring to full attention, as a gracious demonstration of my undying patriotism. If the exhibits thus disclosed meet your satisfaction, perhaps some of you soldier boys will find it expedient to fire off a few well-directed volleys with them weapons of yours. And if perchance the campaign results in full-blown victory, then you victorious soldier boys might see your way to accord a voluntary contribution as a means of showing your gratitude for such skillful training. How about that, boys!"

The boys immediately commenced howling yet again and, Trevor hushing them with a motion of his hands, he volunteered, "I say, that does indeed sound patriotic, Miss Barbie. I do believe we have an agreement, but don't let these boys down, because I shall be in the bar waiting. And trust me - I shall be quite distraught if their marksmanship has not improved considerably by the time their training is completed."

"Done!" she replied. "Now, you boys all strip off right now, you hear? Don't you be dawdling. I need to be able to observe first-hand the full extent of firepower sprouting from each of you boys' weapons when you encounter them hills and valleys. Go on boys, get them pistols clean out of their holsters, or the deal's off." The boys immediately started tearing off their clothes and, surreptitiously pulling her blouse over her head, she thereby further displayed an entrancing pair of the aforementioned hillocks.

Trevor, disinterested in waiting around to see more, headed back to the bar, from whence he maintained a lookout in the unlikely event that her four accomplices should return. An hour and a half later the now noticeably exultant seven soldiers came tumbling one after the other out of the trailer, uniformly appearing as if they'd just been trounced by a heard of buffalo.

As they stumbled toward Trevor in complete disarray, Bobby queried to no one in particular, "Did you see that? I ain't never seen a woman do nothin' close to that in my entire life. I didn't know such contortions was humanly possible!"

"Damn, at first I thought she wasn't nothin' to write home about," Sam replied to Bobby, "But once that Barbie had presented us with the entirety of her credentials for the purpose of weapons trainin', I was utterly convinced that she was possessed of the absolute finest collection of facilities for the weapons training of soldier boys that has ever been placed on this here entire planet. By the time she completed her detailed demonstration of each and every hill and foxhole in the battlefield, I darn near fired off my weapon prematurely. I wished I could have me a battlefield like that to myself just once in my life. I'd sure enough die quick, but grinning with my entire body!"

Billy now glanced towards Trevor and suggested, "You sure 'nough missed it, Private Sutherland. That woman has more weapons than the Khmer Rouge. And she understands military tactics better than a Marine general. She just displayed all the strategic targets on the battlefield, and then she instructed us to fire at will at whatever military objective we took a shine to. She had at least two of us and more often three at one time scurrying into them hillocks and foxholes continuously for close on to an hour and a half! She wore the firearms on the entire pack of us clean down to nubs. We ain't got one single pistol shot left between the whole damn bunch of us. I swear, that Barbie could've taught weapons training to the entire platoon at one time!"

Glancing toward Billy, Trevor inquired patiently, "How much money did you boys give her?"

"Oh, we done give her everything," Dan replied candidly, "Worth every penny of it, too, if you ask me!"

"Damn straight," Bobby put in.

"So you're all broke now," Trevor responded drolly, "Sounds like you won the battle, but you lost the war."

"Well, I expect that must be true, but we sure are highly skilled losers!" Billy observed with an impish grin.

At this Trevor volunteered with an appreciative wink, "I say, it seems everyone got what they came to Waco looking for today. Shall we all head back to the fort? It just so happens I have bus fare for everyone."

"Heck, yeah," Bobby exclaimed. "I done had me the best darn time I ever had in my whole entire life. I got me enough fun built up to keep me smiling for a month of Sundays! I bet I could even snicker my way through ten thousand of Sergeant Stokes' pushups!"

At this the entire group guffawed yet again and, seeing as how they all felt like they'd been to the Moon and back, they were surprised to find the bus stop was little more than two hundred yards distant.

The Following Day

**Trevor awoke to find** **that he had become the talk** of the entire battalion. Word had somehow spread that he had led a charge that had fended off no less than twenty local boys, subsequently talking three of the sweetest local girls you ever saw into putting on an absolutely gratis show for the boys that was right out of the folkloric annals of 'Playboy'.

Himself nonplussed by the entire fictionalized amplification of what was to him a rather seedy event entirely unworthy of recounting, Trevor nonetheless perceived that there was nothing for it but to go along with his buddies' hyped-up elaboration of reality. Although his long road to redemption had taken a most unexpected turn, he felt reassured that it was, though circuitous, progress of sorts.

A Week Later

" **Is it really you?" Vanessa** **spoke** into the phone.

"Yes, Vanessa, of course it is," Trevor responded, "What is the matter? What was so important as to cause the battalion commander to call me to his office?"

Ignoring his question, she asked, "How are you?"

"As well as can be expected," he replied tersely.

"Is it terribly difficult?" she inquired hesitantly.

"Is _what_ terribly difficult?" he responded.

"Why, the army, of course," she spluttered.

"Oh. It's quite acceptable," he muttered, adding, "Is that what you called about?"

"Well, it is good to hear your voice, darling, but...no..." she stammered and, clearing her throat, she followed it with, "I have some bad news, I'm afraid."

"What is the problem, Vanessa?"

"Well, I'm afraid I've miscarried, Trevor. We've lost the baby, you see."

"Oh, I say, that is terrible news!" he exclaimed sympathetically. "What happened?"

"Oh, no one is really certain. The doctor said that these things simply happen a certain percentage of the time. He says there is no way to predict such things, or to avoid them, for that matter."

"That is indeed terribly sad. I am afraid I don't know what to say, Vanessa. Are you quite alright?"

"Yes, yes, of course," she responded tensely, "The doctor says that I'm as strong as a horse. So you see, when you get back home, we can try again."

"Yes, of course, dear," he reflected, "We shall do that. Of course, when I get home..." he mumbled, his voice now trailing off.

Sensing their conversation was coming to an end, she volunteered, "Listen, darling, you take good care of yourself. I cannot _wait_ for you to return home. I love you so much!"

"Yes, dear Vanessa, and I you. And know that I do indeed miss you terribly. Now, I must get back to my duties."

"Yes, of course!" she exclaimed, adding, "Bye Trevor, hugs and kisses!"

"And you as well," and with that he rang off.

A Month Later

**Trevor was chosen outstanding soldier in the platoon** , boot camp coming to its inglorious close. Though he strongly suspected that the honor was misplaced, Sergeant Stokes' presentation of the award made it clear that no refusal of such a magnanimous honor would be permitted.

Two days later the boys shipped out for their new assignments. Bobby, Dan and Trevor were to be transferred directly to Vietnam, with the remaining members of the platoon assigned to stateside tours for further training.
Chapter 6

Escaping Reality

The Potomac River – December, 1968

**Although Rebecca pulled hard** against the current, she was nonetheless carried downstream quite some distance before reaching shore. She realized that, despite the fact that she was an excellent swimmer, had she not discarded everything except her leotard, the current was so strong that the extra weight would most likely have dragged her under. Eventually struggling ashore, she collapsed momentarily in exhaustion. But as soon as she regained her strength she rose up, the realization flooding over her that she was in danger of hypothermia if she didn't find some shelter and clothing immediately.

Peering about in the darkness, she noticed lights along the shore just to her north. Subsequently making her way in that direction as quickly as possible, she jogged along for several minutes before coming upon a restaurant. Although everything was closed, she managed to break into a shed, where she purloined some men's clothing, shrugging her way into them as quickly as possible. She found a piece of sail, and wrapping herself within it, she immediately collapsed into a deep sleep.

She awoke around five A.M., and although it was still dark, she decided that she'd better be moving along right away before people were up and about. Because she had no idea whether anyone would be looking for her, she was unsure what her next step should be. Given the distinct possibility that the authorities might not have been alerted, she decided against attempting to contact the police. Still uncertain as to what she should do to ensure her own safety, she simply continued to make her way north to the lights she had seen on shore.

She eventually found a convenience store that was open, wherein she bought a baseball cap with the hundred-dollar bill and pocketed nearly ninety dollars in change. She stuffed her hair up under the hat and, asking the clerk if he knew a phone number for a taxi, she was given a number which she promptly called from the phone booth outside. Within minutes she was on her way to Union Station. Although the cab fare turned out to be twenty dollars, she still had sufficient cash for a bus ticket to Roanoke, where her brother James lived at the school for the deaf. Since she had hidden five hundred dollars in his room during her previous visit to see him, it was imperative that she go directly there to retrieve her much-needed cash.

She arrived in Roanoke just before noon and, stopping in to see James long enough to remove the money she had stashed in his room, she now had enough cash to survive until she could get her bearings. Although she had also stashed her remaining funds in a safe place at UVa, she thought better of risking a trip back to Charlottesville for the time being. She reasoned woefully that, for the moment, anonymity was undoubtedly her only trustworthy ally.

The Following Day

**Rebecca took the bus** to DC, boarding a train to Baltimore shortly thereafter. Once there, she booked into a cheap hotel a bit down the hill from the train station. She then holed up and did her best to see what the television and newspapers were reporting regarding her disappearance. At first it was all over the news. There were even widely circulated photos of her in the press and on television. Fortunately for her, after three days the news had dwindled, the superficial press moving on to other more provocative news.

Having no idea what the situation might be regarding Hernando Chavez and his associates, she determined to remain in hiding in hopes of further developments.

It wasn't long before she confessed to herself that she actually preferred being alone, at least for the moment. She needed to think - to sort out where her life had gone wrong - in her mind solitude being the best prescription for solving the labyrinthine puzzle that she herself had become. Resigning herself to a more-lengthy stay in Baltimore than she had originally anticipated, she therefore checked out of the hotel and moved to the YWCA, where rooms were more affordable and the clientele was decidedly disinterested in others suffering similar plights. Within a few days she had transitioned smoothly into the swollen ranks of the destitute masses in downtown Baltimore.

Baltimore – April, 1969

**For Rebecca, the days passed effortlessly into weeks** , the weeks somehow drifting timelessly into months. Though she could neither feel nor hear her wounds healing, little by little the emotional scars began to abate, and with time to even disappear, at least to all external appearances.

Four months into her self-induced exile, and by now running low on cash, she felt the need to take action of some sort. Although still feeble deep within her core, she was nonetheless resigned to the fact that she must soon return to Charlottesville to retrieve her secreted cash.

Contemplating this dangerous task, she reasoned that she would need a disguise, thereby leading her to cut her hair short and dye it black. She then donned a pair of sunglasses and her baseball cap and, boarding the train to Washington, she rented a car on arrival at Union Station, driving the remainder of the way to UVa.

Having concealed the remainder of her cash in her gym locker on campus, she decided that stealth was prudent. Awaiting the cover of darkness to enact her plan, she then went directly to the gym and recovered her cash.

It all seemed quite simple when all was said and done, but when she made her way from the gym she was shocked to see Sarah crossing the street, and still worse – Sarah was coming directly towards her. Still, Sarah appearing to have failed to recognize her, Rebecca determined to continue straight on past her. But as Sarah passed her by, she bumped rather clumsily into Rebecca.

"Oh, I'm sorry," Sarah exclaimed nonchalantly, and avoiding eye contact, she blurted, "I'm such a klutz." Subsequently continuing onward, she was seemingly unaware that she had just pummeled her own missing sorority sister.

Relieved, Rebecca continued onwards, but Sarah immediately exclaimed, "Wait a minute, miss! You dropped something when I bumped into you," at which Sarah turned and, trotting back toward Rebecca, she thrust a small piece of paper into her hand. And without so much as another word, she turned on her heel and strolled off into the darkness.

Now aware that something untoward was clearly in the offing, Rebecca raced to her rental car and hastily drove away. After driving several blocks, she pulled over and unfolded the piece of paper. It read, "Meet me in Richmond, at MacDonald's on Third Street at ten P.M."

Richmond – Two Hours Later

**Rebecca stepped inside** **MacDonald's** and, as expected, Sarah was awaiting her arrival.

Subjecting Rebecca to a crushing embrace, Sarah exclaimed, "God, I'm so glad to see you, Rebecca! I just knew you were alive all along."

Returning her embrace, Rebecca inquired, "How? How did you know, Sarah?"

"I just couldn't believe that you would kill yourself, and I knew that you were a strong swimmer. After all, they never found a body."

"Okay, but how did you know that Chavez' associates didn't get me?"

"Because they're still hanging around, that's how," she replied self-assuredly.

"You're not serious!" Rebecca blurted incredulously.

"I've never been more so, girl. Why do you think I played the spy game on campus tonight?"

"Oh, so that's what that was about."

"Yes. I was watching to see if either of those two goons was around, and I saw you go into the gym. While I waited I scribbled a note just in case they were nearby, and when you came out I did the bump trick on you. They don't seem to know about your locker at the gym, but after what Inspector Rush told me I wanted to be super safe. The truth is you're pretty well disguised, so I doubt that they would have spotted you anyway. I might not have recognized you myself had I not been watching for you."

"How did you know about my locker?"

"Oh, Inspector Rush did some digging around on campus several months ago. He's the DC inspector assigned to your case. He found out you had a locker at the gym. When school started in September he asked me to sort of camp out and watch out for you when I had time. He had a hunch right from the start that you might have left something valuable in your locker, so he got permission to open it, and he found the money. He figured you'd come back if you were alive, but he didn't have enough to go on to put somebody on your case in Charlottesville, so he wisely enlisted me to help out."

"I see," Rebecca responded with evident skepticism, "So you were spying on me. Are you going to turn me in?"

"Rebecca! You wound me! Would I be here now if I was?"

"Right. I'm sorry I asked, Sarah. I should have known better."

"No problem," Sarah replied and, eyeing Rebecca earnestly, she asked, "So what the heck is going on, Rebecca?"

"What do you mean?"

"Why haven't you come out of hiding?"

"I needed some time to think, Sarah. Besides, I felt like I was in a lot of danger immediately after that night. To tell you the truth, I felt pretty confused for quite a while."

"Exactly what happened?" Sarah asked.

"I did the show - the same one I did at Halloween. It was all pretty tame up to that point, but then that vermin Chavez forced me to strip. After that he grabbed me, handcuffed me to a table, and raped me in front of the whole crowd."

"Oh, God! That's awful, Rebecca! You must have been devastated."

"Yeah, I was..." Rebecca responded, her voice trailing off and, eyes now glistening, she shook her head in disbelief.

"Oh, my..." Sarah observed and, recognizing the need for an immediate change of subject, she queried, "So how did you get away?"

"Oh, that," Rebecca murmured, "That part was easy. I kicked the bathroom door into that guy Sandro's face, and while he was out, I just dove into the Potomac and swam to shore."

"Geez, Girl, you must have frozen your ass off. It was December, for God's sake!"

"To tell you the truth, I hardly noticed. I must have been in shock or something," Rebecca responded distantly.

"So why'd you do it, Rebecca? I mean - the show?"

"Damn, Bryan told me that Trevor had arranged it for me. They were supposed to pay me five hundred to do the same show I did at Halloween, and since I needed the money, I decided why not? Besides, Trevor wanted me to do it, and I wanted to see him. I was missing him pretty badly by that point. I know, I was a fool to trust that jerk after the deplorable way he had previously treated me but, like a fool, I fell yet again for one of his underhanded ploys. Believe you me, I will never trust that creep again. Hopefully, I'll never even SEE him again."

"He told me what he did, but I didn't realize just how bad it was until this very moment," Sarah responded.

"He told you?" Rebecca blurted in disbelief, "When?"

"Oh, he came looking for you the very next day. He was distraught. At the time I thought he was worried for you, but I've since come to the realization that he was actually worried for himself."

"What did he say?"

"He acted like he didn't know what was going to happen that night."

"That's a crock! He masterminded the whole thing."

"Yeah, Inspector Rush told me so," Sarah responded.

"Told you what?" Rebecca queried, her head suddenly jerking up in anticipation.

"The police searched Trevor's room, Rebecca. They found his so-called 'scorecard'."

"Scorecard? What the heck are you talking about, Sarah?"

"You know, some sort of a little black book, and there, the last name on the list, was Rebecca Carey."

"Son of a bitch!" Rebecca blurted in rage, "That scumbucket is even worse than I thought!"

"Well, the only good news is – there was no grade by your name."

"Grade? What sort of grade?"

"You know, Rebecca, after all, it is a _scorecard_!"

"Oh...my...God..." Rebecca muttered in sudden awareness, at which the pair drifted into contemplative silence.

Eventually breaking the discomforting solitude, Sarah inquired, "So, what are you planning to do now?"

"I still don't know, Sarah. I've paid dearly already, I'll tell you that."

"Yeah, your buddy Trevor did, too."

"Why? What happened to him, Sarah?"

"They kicked him out of school, or at least they would have if he hadn't dropped out voluntarily. That's the rumor I heard."

"Why?"

"They found out what happened that night, Rebecca. They assume you did a strip show, and they know that he set you up to it. The rumor is even out around the sorority house. So you might get kicked out as well if you were to come back."

"It doesn't matter. I'm not ever coming back. I don't know what I'm going to do, but one thing I do know is that it's not safe for me right now, what with those crooks still mucking about."

"Do you need anything? I mean, is there anything I can do to help?"

"No, I'm fine. I'm doing as well as can be expected."

"I have a suggestion for you, if you're interested," Sarah offered.

"Okay," Rebecca replied, "What are you thinking?"

"Why don't you report in to Inspector Rush in DC?"

"Why would I do that?"

"For the simple reason that Hernando Chavez has apparently instructed his associates to keep an eye on your mom's house. Since they're clearly waiting for you to show up, they also may have tapped the phone there, and God knows what else. What that means is – he's willing to go to great lengths to find you."

At this revelation, Rebecca grasped her throat in terror, exclaiming, "Oh, my God! This is worse than I thought!"

"You're telling me!" Sarah responded knowingly, "You might want to know that Inspector Rush seems to be really interested in your case. I think he's a good cop. I'm fairly certain he's the one that got Trevor kicked out of school. I've been thinking about this for quite a while, Rebecca. I think that the inspector is your safest way out of this mess. What do you say?"

"I'll think about it, Sarah. In the meantime, can you give me the inspector's phone number and address in DC?"

"Sure, I have it written down right here. I've been carrying it around for months in the hope that I'd get the chance to give it to you."

"Thanks. This means a lot to me," Rebecca said. "Now, I think I need to get going. Please don't tell a soul that you saw me."

"Done. Give me a hug, will you?" Sarah responded, at which the two embraced fiercely, Sarah adding, "Please let me know you're okay from time to time, okay?"

"Yes, of course," Rebecca replied, and with that she headed for the parking lot.

"Oh, one other thing, Rebecca," Sarah called to her.

Turning back, Rebecca responded, "Yeah?"

"That jerk Trevor joined the Army!"

"What!" Rebecca blurted in shock. "That seems totally out of character for him. He's so conceited, and he's not even a U.S. citizen."

"Yeah," Sarah responded thoughtfully. "Anyway, the rumor is he's gone to Vietnam."

Rebecca responded vehemently, "Good riddance," adding in finality, "Okay, thanks Sarah. Bye."

With that Rebecca walked out, got into the rental car, and drove off. She had to think. There was a torrent of newfound information to sift through. And that guy Trevor - going off to Vietnam! It was all too much for her to absorb. If she hadn't had a rental car, she might have driven aimlessly westward in search of herself, but as it was, she knew full well that if she didn't turn it in the next day, someone might realize that Rebecca Carey had rented a car in DC and subsequently disappeared yet a second time.

Thinking better of it, she drove to a seedy motel, checked in, and the following morning she drove to Washington and returned the rental car, thenceforth heading for Union Station in preparation for her return train to Baltimore. Once there she bought a ticket, and as she had an hour to spare before her scheduled departure, she stopped for coffee.

She was sitting at a table staring into space when she realized that there was a phone booth not thirty feet away. Without a second thought she automatically stood up, walked over to it, and dialed the number. After two rings the voice on the other end blurted, "Inspector Rush."

"Inspector Rush, this is Rebecca, Rebecca Carey," she replied curtly.

"Rebecca! Miss Carey! Please tell me it's really you!" he responded enthusiastically.

"It's me, and I can prove it," she answered, an incongruous smile somehow induced by his overjoyed response.

"Rebecca, I do so want to meet you. Where are you?" he queried. "Tell me you're in DC!"

"No, sorry. I'm not in Washington, Inspector," she lied, "But I would like to discuss options with you, if I may."

"Certainly, certainly," he responded. "What did you have in mind?"

"Well, first I'd like to have a nice conversation with you at some point regarding 'recent events'. Then, if I am satisfied as to your commitment to my case, then I may in the future be convinced to come in."

"Excellent, Rebecca," he replied. "However, may I say - the sooner the better. You doubtless know that you are in significant danger."

"That may well be, Inspector, but I seem to be doing alright on my own at the moment. In any case, I feel the need for a bit more time to myself, for the purpose of working my way through my issues, if you get my meaning."

"Yes, of course," he responded empathetically. "In the meantime, how may I be of service to you?"

"Yes, I've been thinking about that. I would ask you for two favors. First, please do NOT inform my mother that you have spoken to me."

"That goes without saying, Rebecca. Too much danger if word gets out. You have my promise. Your family will not be informed that you have contacted me."

"Thank you. Second request – please don't inform anyone else either, I mean – anyone whatsoever."

"Hmmm," he replied, obviously pondering this more significant request, "Yes, I see your point. Alright, yes, I agree to that as well. When can I expect to hear from you again?"

"Soon, Inspector. And I will look forward to that discussion regarding events, okay?"

"Yes, of course," he responded.

"Oh, and one other thing," she said, "What do you know of Trevor Sutherland, Inspector?"

"Why do you ask?"

"I'm just curious."

"Alright, let me see. He left school at UVa in December."

"I heard that he was kicked out," she interrupted.

"No, he might have been, but his father maneuvered it so that he could leave voluntarily without being expelled. It just looked better that way."

"I see," she responded. "His father seems a good sort to me."

"Oh, I didn't realize you'd met him."

"Yes sir, I did, and his mother as well. That was before Trevor and I had a falling out."

"I must say, I'm quite impressed with the Earl and his wife," Inspector Rush put in.

"Earl? What Earl?" Rebecca inquired vacuously.

"Why, Trevor's father is the Earl of Winston. That's how he became the British Ambassador to the U.S."

"Good Lord," she replied, "I had no idea. I'll bet the Earl wasn't too happy about Trevor's involvement in my disappearance."

"That is an understatement," Inspector Rush responded. "His mother hauled off and slapped the holy crap out of him right in my office, and then his father spat on him. Trevor joined the Army a couple of weeks later. He's now in Vietnam."

"Yeah, I heard that much. Any word how he's doing over there, Inspector?"

"No, I haven't heard anything at all. I'm sorry."

"No problem," she replied. "Thanks for filling me in. I'll talk to you soon, Inspector."

"Thanks for your call. It's so good to hear your voice, Miss Carey. God speed," and at this he rang off.

Rebecca boarded the train for Baltimore a short time later.

Baltimore - November, 1969

**Feeling more and more like her old self, Rebecca** hardly noticed as the months fairly flew by. Still, well aware that her meagre resources would not last forever, she had in recent weeks begun to contemplate how she might support herself without creating a traceable trail that might lead Chavez' goons to her. One day, idly perched on a bench in front of the YWCA, she noticed a sort of nondescript elderly gentleman coming her way. Averting her eyes as she was wont to do, she calmly waited for him to pass. But he didn't. Instead, he sat down on the bench and stretched out as if to camp out alongside her. Perplexed at this intrusion, she sat motionless, hoping against hope that he might move on. But when he didn't she grew uneasy.

Eventually, without so much as glancing her way, he babbled, "Nice day."

Jerking her head about in surprise, she eyed him suspiciously and, sensing no threat whatsoever, she observed curtly, "Maybe in your world, but not in mine."

Still paying no apparent attention to her, he inquired pleasantly, "And what world do you live in, if you don't mind me asking?"

Still hopeful that he would somehow disappear, she mumbled, "Nothing. Forget it."

The silence stretched out yet again, but then he suddenly offered, "Suppose your world could change, perhaps even – for the better."

Popping to her feet in fury, she exclaimed, "I knew it! You're not out for a sunny stroll, are you!"

Still avoiding eye contact, he murmured, "Nope."

Somehow calmed by such a simple admission, she plopped back down beside him and offered, "Okay, mister. Let's hear it. I'm all ears."

At this he turned towards her and politely suggested, "I hoped you'd say that, Miss, er..."

"Wendy, Wendy Gardner," she replied noncommittally.

"Pleased to meet you, Miss Gardner," he responded pleasantly, "Name's Hal, Hal Bernstein," and at this he held out his hand.

Eyeing him distantly, she replied, "This better be good, Mr. Hal Bernstein!"

"Of course," he nodded and, tugging his lapels officiously, he launched into it, announcing, "I'm the owner of the Stafford Club. Have you heard of it?"

Draping her arms over the bench in obvious boredom, she denied, "Nope."

"It's a gentlemen's club, over in Little Italy," he observed sheepishly.

"Oh, I get it," she exclaimed and, eyes flashing at him, she spat, "It's a _strip club_!"

"Well, er, after a fashion, yes, but my club is different. It's real high class, no hanky panky, if you know what I mean."

"Oh, _really_!" she countered dismissively.

"Absolutely," he replied defensively and, now coming to the point, he added, "Heard about you from one of my girls. She says you're a real looker, and boy is she right about that."

"So what," Rebecca snarled.

"Well, seein' as how you are living in the YWCA, I thought to stroll on over and see if I might interest you in a business proposition. Interested?"

Eyeing him suspiciously, she retorted, "Spare me the chit chat, Mr. Bernstein. This conversation grows tiresome, so get to the point."

His eyebrow arched in surprise, he followed her bidding, suggesting, "I was hoping you might consider joining my club."

" _Joining_ your club? What the hell does that mean?"

"Employment, Miss Gardner, I'm speaking of a job."

"You mean _stripping_?"

"Listen, Miss Gardner, while you've been sitting on this here park bench there's been a revolution going on in America. Everywhere people are revolting against traditional societal customs, dropping out, doing drugs, and participating in all sorts of sexual mayhem.

"Certain aspects of the war in Vietnam are crystallizing the fight for freedom of expression in this country, and women are a major part of that fight. Women are burning their bras in public demonstrations as a means of emphasizing their equality in this country. They're claiming their right to equal treatment to men in all walks of life, and one of those rights is freedom of expression. Over the past couple of years in this country, women have challenged the underlying concept of the Second Amendment, claiming that prohibiting the right to remove their clothing in certain appropriately controlled social settings violates their freedom of expression. Well, they're winning that fight, and this is your chance to be a part of that fight."

"So, let me get this straight, Mr. Bernstein," she responded facetiously, "What you're saying is, if I become an exotic dancer, I will be joining the fight for women's rights."

"It may sound ludicrous, but it's true," he responded unequivocally.

"Tell you what, Mr. Hal Bernstein, give me your business card, and if I'm interested, I'll have my _agent_ call you in a few days," she replied flippantly.

"Excellent! Couldn't have asked for more," he replied and, rising to depart, he handed her his card and added politely, "Have a nice day, Miss Gardner."

A Week Later

**Rebecca was camped out,** maintaining vigil from her usual spot outside the YWCA. Noticing a street walker coming her way, she decided to follow her. Maintaining a discrete distance, she trailed the woman to an area in little Italy that was dotted with strip clubs. Her curiosity piqued, she decided on the spur of the moment to go inside one of the clubs. Since it was not yet nighttime, nothing of much significance was going on, so she went back to the Y and awaited darkness to fall.

That night, disguised in her baseball cap and baggy jeans, she went back to Little Italy. She visited several of the clubs, each one seemingly doing a good business. Most were fairly revolting, but one of them seemed to be pretty high class. It was, of course, the Stafford Club.

Making her way within, she sat at the bar contemplating. Eventually, the bouncer came up to her and asked her what she was doing at the club. "Just having a drink," she replied noncommittally.

"That just don't happen around these parts," he responded. "You're here for a reason."

"Nope. I'm just hanging out," she replied unobtrusively.

"Okay," he mumbled nonchalantly, "But you ain't foolin' me." At this he turned and walked away. Within moments she saw him, coming her way. At his approach, she volunteered banally, "Hi, Hal."

"Hi, Miss Gardner. Good to see you," he responded, "George tells me you're just hanging out. That right?"

Surreptitiously taking a sip of her beer, she responded, "Yep."

"Here's the thing, Miss Gardner, we don't cater to working girls in here."

"I know. Do I look like I'm working to you?" she replied.

"Well, er, it takes all kinds, I suppose," he responded doubtfully.

"Trust me, Mr. Bernstein. I'm not working. I don't do that sort of thing, so you don't need to worry about me."

"Okay, fair enough, Wendy. But would you _like_ to be working?"

Rebecca stared at him for a moment, responding dubiously, "I don't know...I never thought about it until last week."

"Well," Hal responded patiently and, scratching his head in contemplation, he suggested, "Look at it this way, Wendy, if you want to make a living, you gotta do something useful. It's the nature of the world we live in."

"Yeah, I guess you're right," she responded thoughtfully.

"You got any experience at this sort of thing?" he queried.

"Actually, yes," she lied, "Not a lot, but I've been around the block."

"Excellent! Tell you what, Wendy. Think about it, and if you're interested, stop back in sometime. And make it real soon, okay?"

"Thanks. I'll think about it," she answered, and at that she hopped from the barstool and made her way to the exit.

The following night she went back to the club and watched again. She was beginning to form an idea in her head. It appeared that this was the sort of job where she could maintain anonymity. It seemed that the majority of the pay was tips, and the salary, if indeed there was one, could probably be had in cash. So it might not be necessary to produce a social security card, something that was just too dangerous for Rebecca to consider. She just couldn't afford to risk giving out any sort of traceable information. And to make matters worse, she was by now nearly broke.

A Few Days Later

**Rebecca had by now worked up the nerve** to return to the Stafford Club, this time for business purposes. She strolled to the club just after dark, and on entering she bought a drink and watched the show for a few minutes. Eventually, the bouncer came up to her and asked her what she thought she was doing there. She replied that she was looking for a job, further indicating that she had previously talked to Hal about it.

"What's your name?" George queried.

"Wendy, Wendy Gardner," she replied.

"Oh, yeah, I remember you now. Let me do some checking. I'll get back to you in a few," he responded.

She sat watching the show, all the while thinking that she was at least as talented as the girls performing in this, the best club around. George eventually returned and ordered tersely, "Follow me, Wendy."

Rising to follow, she responded, "Thanks."

He guided her to an office where there were two elderly men in suits absentmindedly observing the floor show through a one-way mirror. Both rose as she entered, one saying to the bouncer, "Thanks George," and, turning back towards her, he posited, "So Wendy, you remember me, I'm Hal."

"Yes, of course, Mr. Bernstein. Thanks for remembering me."

"No problem, Wendy. So, have you decided to take a shot?"

"Yes, sir, I believe I have," she replied doubtfully.

"Where've you worked before?"

"I've just done private shows, in DC."

"Oh, high class stuff, eh?"

Attempting to appear as if she knew what she was talking about, she responded, "Yeah, small groups, very rich."

"Excellent," he replied and, turning to the other gentleman, he appended, "This is Stu Putterman. We run a high class show here, Wendy. Strictly exotic dancing, nothing on the side. I mean nothing whatsoever, you hear?"

"Pleased to meet you, Mr. Putterman," she responded, "And I couldn't work here if you asked me to do anything other than that. Nobody touches my body except me."

"Excellent," Hal nodded, inquiring surreptitiously, "So, are you up to showing the two of us your goods, Wendy?"

"Not yet," she replied, "Not my style. I need a few days to sort of work my way back into it."

"No problem. We can work with that," Hal responded, "What exactly did you have in mind?"

"I was wondering if I could work as a waitress for a few nights, just to get my feet on the ground. I'd be willing to work just for tips."

"Hmmm..., what do you think Stu?" and, seeing Stu's nod of approval, Hal responded, "Okay, we're good with that. But just for a week, okay?"

"Not a problem," she responded, "When do I start?"

"Right, can you start tomorrow night? The early show is at seven thirty. You need to be here by seven P.M. Okay, Wendy?"

"Yeah, see you then. And thanks, Mr. Bernstein."

"No problem, and welcome to the Stafford Club. Oh, and start working on your act, because you'll start performing next Saturday night."

"Sure, I already have it planned out in my mind."

"Great. I think you'll like it here, Wendy. We're a good honest club. Stay out of trouble and you'll do fine."

At this she nodded and said, "Thanks. See you tomorrow," at which she exited the office.

Once out on the street, she realized that she actually felt giddy. For some reason she was genuinely excited by the opportunity to be doing something purposeful, despite the rather questionable morality of it all. Now she had a means of sustaining herself at least until she could decide how to get out of the mess she'd found herself within.

The following evening she waited tables, and by the end of the week she had made more than a hundred dollars. Although she still had to work up her act, she realized that she now had a means of supporting herself indefinitely. Nonetheless, she continued living at the YWCA, keeping her profession well concealed from those who knew her there. Within this newfound reality, she drifted through several months without even noticing the passage of time.

Washington - March, 1970

**Inspector Rush sat by his phone,** willing it to ring. Midway through the first ring, he pounced on it, saying, "Inspector Rush! Is that you, Miss Carey?"

Without even feeling the necessity to introduce herself, Rebecca responded inanely, "My, my, we are in quite a hurry today, aren't we!"

Ignoring her jibe, he posited in obvious jubilation, "Oh, it's so good to hear from you, Miss Carey! I've been sitting by the phone for months waiting for you to call!"

"Get a life, Inspector," she replied with a giggle.

It being obvious to him from her spritely response that she was somehow on the mend, he volunteered affably, "I expect that I will, as soon as I know that you are safe. Now then, I know that you wanted to discuss events from the last time you called, and I have been assembling everything that you might want to know from me. I'm ready, Miss Carey. Fire away!"

"Sure thing, Inspector. First question - How many of Chavez' men are still searching for me?"

"Good question! Only two, so far as I know. There were four at first, but two of them went back to Venezuela several months ago."

"Where are the remaining two now?"

"One is in Charlottesville. The other one is in Danville watching your mom's home."

"Yes, I knew that. I was just testing you. So far you're batting a thousand, Inspector."

At this revelation he chuckled, but prodded impatiently, "What else?"

"Okay," she continued, "Second question – did Trevor Sutherland get forced out of UVa because of you?"

"Yes, I suppose he did," he replied, "I simply informed the campus police of his actions regarding you. I also informed his father as to what was going on, and he negotiated the deal that allowed Mr. Sutherland to leave school without being expelled. It would most likely have come to that eventually anyway, but I undoubtedly sped up the process."

"Kudos, Inspector. Third question – tell me about this so-called _scorecard_ of Trevor's."

"Ah, I see you've heard," he replied reticently, "There's not much to tell, I'm afraid. The police in Charlottesville discovered it when they searched his room at the fraternity house."

"What exactly does it say, Inspector?"

"Nothing special, but it does have your name on it."

"And?"

"Well, it makes it clear that he was using it as a means of tabulating and ranking his sexual conquests, I'm afraid."

"I see," she replied thoughtfully, "Exactly how many names are on the list?"

"I'm afraid I'm not at liberty to say, Miss Carey," he responded, "But what I can say is this – yours was the only name on his list without an assigned score."

"Of course," she responded knowingly, "But just exactly what is the significance of that, Inspector?"

"My dear Rebecca, I should think that would be obvious. You were undoubtedly his next target. Otherwise, your name would most certainly not have been included on the list."

"Oh! Oh, now I see..." she stammered self-consciously, adding, "My goodness, I had no idea..."

"Understandable, Miss Carey, as such behavior is clearly well out of the ordinary, I assure you," he replied sympathetically.

There was a momentary silence, but then she followed with, "What would happen to me if I came in?"

"Excellent question!" he replied, "We would immediately place you in the witness protection program."

"How does that work?"

"Well, first we would give you a new identity, and then we would place you somewhere that you could not be traced by Hernando Chavez and his associates. I can assure you, Mr. Chavez is a _very_ dangerous man."

"What would you do about a job for me?"

"What do you mean, Rebecca?"

"Could I work at anything that I wanted to."

"Yes, of course, so long as it isn't illegal."

"Would I have any say in where I moved to?"

"Yes, within certain limits. You would need to be placed somewhere that we can maintain your protection."

"Last question - what are the chances that we could get Hernando Chavez and Trevor Sutherland for their crimes?"

"Not very good at the moment, I'm afraid, but they would be dramatically improved if you came in."

"That's not very reassuring, Inspector," she offered candidly.

"Yes, I know, but I'm trying to be honest with you, Rebecca. These things are determined by the DA. The important thing is, if you come in, we'll provide protection for you whether the charges are pursued or not. You see, the important thing is for you to be out of harm's way."

"Okay, I get it, Inspector. Thanks for your input. You will hear from me pretty soon, I expect."

"Please make it very soon, Rebecca. I am only thinking of your wellbeing."

"Yes, of course. Oh, and one other question - What do you hear about Trevor Sutherland."

"Not a thing. So far as I know, he is still in Vietnam, I'm afraid."

"Okay, thanks for the info. That's all for now. Bye, Inspector."

Baltimore - April, 1970

**Rebecca hardly noticed as another month slipped by**. She had by now developed friendships with a number of the girls working within the club. One in particular was named Mimi. Mimi was a platinum blonde with quite bountiful attributes.

Mimi had a wonderful heart. Perhaps ten years older than Rebecca, she had taken Rebecca under her wing, so to speak. Under Mimi's tutelage, Rebecca had learned how to spot a guy she should avoid, mastering the art of safely exiting the club at night in such a way that she could not be followed. In this way, Rebecca had fallen into a day-to-day existence that she found not just tolerable, but in some ways perhaps even fulfilling. Still, she understood all too well that she must make some decisions soon, as her current existence was most certainly not sustainable indefinitely.
Chapter 7

Demons

In Route to Vietnam – Early April, 1969

**Trevor hoisted his pack** **onto his back and followed** the soldier in front of him onto the C-141 Starlifter. Struggling mightily to suppress the bile that was surging up within him, he scrutinized the other foot soldiers trudging into the hold of the aircraft. Hoping forlornly that he was not the only one who was petrified at what lay at the other end of this flight, he was distraught to see that not one face among them betrayed anything close to what he was feeling inside.

More than thirty thousand Americans had already died in Vietnam, many of them during the Tet Offensive of the previous year. With this burgeoning thought in mind, he did his best to sleep on the long flight, but he found it nonetheless impossible to do so. And when they landed in Hawaii to refuel, he could rally no interest whatsoever in the inviting surroundings.

His inner demons by now in complete control, he wondered to himself what on earth he had been thinking of when he had let himself be talked into an infantry assignment. And now here he was, little more than twelve hours away from being on the front lines in a full-scale war several thousand miles from home.

The last leg from Hawaii to Vietnam seemed interminable, Trevor feeling sore over every square inch of his body by the time they arrived. The troops were subsequently assigned to various commands, and Trevor and his newfound buddy Dan Wilson were ordered to report to Captain Wood. Making their way to their reporting hut, the pair immediately reported to Captain Wood.

"Good to have you men with us," Captain Wood offered, returning their salutes as he did so. "Private Sutherland, do you by any chance know a Lieutenant Bryan Highsmith?"

"Yes, sir, we were in college together," Trevor responded.

"Small world," Captain Wood responded. "He happens to be your platoon leader."

Gaping in surprise, Trevor nonetheless said nothing, the effects of the long flight still apparent. Observing this, Captain Wood continued, "Once again, welcome soldiers. Please report to Lieutenant Highsmith straightaway."

"Yes, sir," the pair said simultaneously, each saluting smartly.

Once outside, Dan said, "Well, if that don't beat all. Bet you'll get special treatment from your buddy."

"You don't know Lieutenant Highsmith, or you wouldn't say that," Trevor responded. Changing the subject, he continued with, "Let's report. I think it's this way," at which he pointed to a group of tents off in the distance.

Once they arrived, both men reported to the platoon commander's office. Entering, the pair saluted, indicating that they had been ordered by Captain Wood to report to Lieutenant Highsmith. Lieutenant Highsmith returned the salutes of the two privates, welcomed them, then ordered Dan to report to the platoon sergeant.

After Dan had left the room Bryan came around the desk and said, "Good to see you, Trevor."

"Thanks," Trevor responded, the two slapping one another on the back. "This is quite a stroke of good luck."

"Well, in a manner of speaking," Lieutenant Highsmith responded, "But I actually asked for you to be placed in my platoon."

"Oh? Why?" Trevor inquired vacuously.

"Misery loves company," Bryan quipped with a grin.

At this Trevor smiled as well, responding, "You can say that again."

"I can't say how glad I am to see you, Trevor. You look like you're starting to recover."

"Oh, I don't know about that," Trevor blurted, "I'm just trying to live day to day."

"Well, you'll certainly get your chance here!"

"Yeah, I think I see what you mean, Bry," and then, realizing he'd slipped into familiarity, he added, "Well, I guess we won't be doing this again for a while, sir."

"Not any time soon, I'm afraid," Bryan responded grimly, "You won't be getting any special treatment in this man's army. So, how was boot camp?"

"Not as bad as I was expecting. Actually, I kind of enjoyed it. Took my mind off things."

Sensing exactly what 'things' Trevor was referring to, Bryan replied, "Got it."

"How is the war progressing?" Trevor queried.

"I don't really know much yet. I've only been here a couple of weeks myself, and so far we haven't done anything but sit on our tails," Bryan replied. "Not to worry, though. I'm sure we'll find out soon enough. In fact, your arrival fills out the platoon roster, which could well mean that we are about to deploy to the front lines, wherever that is."

Vietnam – Summer, 1969

**As it turned out, Trevor** **didn't even leave the camp** for the first three months. Each day, the platoon was assigned tasks ranging from cleaning garbage to helping distribute supplies, to working with medical units to aide with the treatment of wounded soldiers. It was tedious work, but Trevor relished the opportunity to stay busy.

Eight months had now passed since Rebecca's disappearance, the passage of time finally beginning to deaden the pain. Every little chore that he completed brought him a miniscule but nonetheless significant step closer to recovery of his self-respect.

Late September

**Trevor was sitting on his bunk** **polishing his combat boots** when Bryan rushed into the barracks, commanding ominously, "Men, the second platoon has been ordered to the front lines. Get your combat gear ready. We move out in two hours! Private Sutherland, please spread the word to those who are not present in the barracks at this moment."

"Yes, sir," Trevor responded.

Two hours later the entire platoon of forty men was loaded onto trucks and shipped out. They had no idea where they were headed. By sundown Trevor estimated that they had travelled at least seventy-five miles north. That night they offloaded at a temporary encampment that he was told had been set up for the purpose of transporting men northward. The following morning, having consumed a makeshift breakfast, they arrived two hours later at a temporary air base that had been set up for the purpose of supporting troop movements via helicopter.

Within an hour they were ordered to prepare for airlift. They were going to the front, whatever and wherever that was. Thirty minutes later the entire platoon was airlifted on a half dozen Huey UH-1's. Trevor estimated the helicopter was making about eighty knots, flying what appeared to him to be in a northwesterly direction for an hour and a half before landing in a field surrounded by jungle in every direction. By his reckoning, they had just landed near the border to Laos, the most feared and remote part of the entire war zone.

All forty men unloaded from the Huey's within seconds, everyone clamoring as quickly as possible into the cover provided by the jungle on the west side of the field. For the moment things appeared to be safe and quiet.

Over the space of the next few days the platoon moved farther north, making ground at a snail's pace due to the paucity of anything recognizable as a footpath, much less a roadway. Movement was further slowed by intermittent rain, which tended to slow troop movements by a factor of three every time a downpour occurred. After five days, the men were sore, cranky, and approaching exhaustion. Given that it rained two, three, or even four times a day, Trevor estimated that they had progressed no more than twenty miles.

No one had the slightest clue where they were headed. Only Lieutenant Highsmith had access to radio communications. Two days later they encountered the first humans that they had seen in a week - a group of farmers tending rice patties in the fields. The locals paid little attention to them as they passed directly through their farmland, the platoon continuing northwards.

Noticing a suspicious glance pass between two of the farmers as the platoon made their way through the field, Trevor immediately suspected some sort of collusion. His concern mounting, he moved forward quickly, catching up with Lieutenant Highsmith well before they reached the trees on the far side of the field.

Reaching him before they came within rifle shot of the trees, he called out, "Lieutenant, I have a funny feeling about this."

"What? What are you thinking, private?" the lieutenant responded.

"I'm guessing, but there seems to be something quite strange about those farmers," Trevor said.

"Like what?"

"Right. For one thing, they appear to be sending each other signals, and for another thing, there are no women among them. That seems quite unusual to me."

At this supposition Lieutenant Highsmith glanced back where they had just come from and said, "Yeah, I see what you mean." Seeing that two of the farmers appeared to be covertly watching them, he queried, "What do you suggest, private?"

"Perhaps this is a trap, and if it is, those farmers are in fact Viet Cong, arranged so as to catch us in an ambush between themselves and the remaining troops within the trees."

"Good point, but they may also just be ordinary farmers."

"Right, but there is an easy way to find out, sir."

"What's that?"

"Sir, we could go back and check them for weapons," Trevor offered.

"Okay, tell you what, we're still too far from the trees for them to attack us if there is in fact a force in there. So I'll wait here with the platoon. You pick five guys and go back and check them for weapons."

"Yes, sir," Trevor responded and, saluting, he turned to carry out his orders. Summarily picking the requisite soldiers, he explained their assignment and immediately reversed direction to check out the farmers.

The group of six now unexpectedly advancing in arears, one of the farmers was seen to pull a grenade from his shirt, whereupon Trevor immediately shot him. The now live grenade fell to the ground, subsequently exploding, thereby taking out another of the supposed farmers. The remaining farmers suddenly produced weapons and opened fire, the squad led by Trevor returning fire. The entire enemy force was quickly dispatched, Trevor himself taking out an additional three in the process. He then crouched and, checking his buddies, he found that only one had been injured \- a minor flesh wound.

The trees beyond the field now lit up with small arms fire, the entire platoon hitting the ground, every man in search of a place that offered protection. The platoon exchanged fire with their opponents for nearly half an hour, at which point a single chopper swept in and opened fire on the trees to the north. It was all over in seconds. After the helicopter had ceased firing, Trevor rushed forward to Lieutenant Highsmith, inquiring, "Shouldn't we move ahead, sir?"

Lieutenant Highsmith stared at him vacantly for a moment, then commanded, "Take ten men and head straight for the trees, Private."

"Yes, sir," Trevor responded and, pointing out several of his fellow soldiers, he commanded, "Lieutenant's orders, follow me!"

They charged forward, racing the final distance to the trees as quickly as possible. By the time they reached the trees, every enemy soldier who had not been injured by the strafing had melted invisibly into the trees. They found thirteen dead Viet Cong.

Lieutenant Highsmith eventually caught up with Trevor saying, "Hell of a job, Private Sutherland. If you hadn't spotted those Cong in the field there, there's no telling how many of us would have been killed. As it is, we have one casualty, and he'll live for sure. Damn fine job!"

"Thank you, sir," Trevor replied smartly.

The following day they arrived at their objective. Surprisingly, it appeared to be a fully equipped and manned U.S. military camp. There were perhaps a couple of hundred soldiers encamped within, Trevor spotting at least one full colonel within the first hour of their arrival.

Trevor learned shortly thereafter that the camp had been named Camp RB by the soldiers. "What is the significance of that?" he inquired of a soldier who had already been there for two weeks.

"It stands for Runny Bottom," the soldier replied with a grotesque grin.

"Meaning?" Trevor queried blankly.

"It's a descriptive term," the soldier responded distantly.

"Just tell me what it means," Trevor reiterated stubbornly.

"Just wait," the soldier volunteered dismally, "When you get the runs, you'll know what it means. And it won't be long, trust me!"

It was soon apparent that supplies were plentiful, including tents. Accordingly, the platoon set to the task of moving in for however long they were expected to endure in this godforsaken place. While they were doing so, a CH-54 Skycrane flew in low and dropped additional supplies without even so much as touching down.

Trevor wondered to himself why they had been forced to walk for a full week when it was possible to fly a helicopter directly into the camp. This was not by any means his first inkling that the war that he had volunteered to join was indeed stranger than fiction. In such surreal circumstances, he was forced to constantly remind himself that he had joined up for somewhat surreptitious reasons.

After a week it had become apparent that the entire unit was engaged in a military action that was off the map. Patrols were sent out each night to contain the perimeter surrounding the camp, Trevor participating in several of these over the succeeding weeks. Aside from that, he had no earthly idea what they were doing there. In fact, in his first month at the camp he never heard a weapon fired.

In their second month on site, things began to change. It was sporadic at first, but over the course of the succeeding two months, night patrols occasionally encountered small detachments of North Vietnamese skirmishers. The camp began suffering a few casualties, most of them airlifted out within hours. Only one soldier was killed outright during Trevor's first three months on the front, but more than thirty-five wounded soldiers were airlifted out, several of whom Trevor anticipated might not survive.

The slow accumulation of events made it clear to everyone in Lieutenant Highsmith's platoon that Private Sutherland was a fighting man's soldier. Whatever needed to be done, he was the man to take charge and do it. As time wore on, he was assigned to lead more and more night patrols, and on several sorties he saved a situation from much worse results with his quick thinking under fire. Although a few soldiers from his platoon were injured, it became well known in the camp that his platoon was by far the best prepared, and everyone knew the reason why.

Christmas - 1969

**Trevor saluted Lieutenant Highsmith,** saying, "You asked for me, sir?"

"Right, Private Sutherland," he replied officiously and, returning his salute, he added, "Tell the men to get their gear. We've got two days of R and R. The Huey's will be here to pick us up in half an hour."

Wheeling about to carry out his order, Trevor responded, "Yes, sir!"

Three hours later, the platoon was offloaded at a rest station on the coast. The men were within less than an hour blissfully inebriated, the reality of war temporarily pushed away from their minds.

"So, what's the plan?" Dan queried woozily from his cot within the enormous open tent.

"No plan," Trevor's muffled voice escaped from beneath his hat, he himself lying prone by Dan's side.

"Billy says we got two full days. Is that right?"

"So far as I am aware," Trevor responded distractedly.

"Well, tomorrow's Christmas day, you know," Dan offered.

"Right," was Trevor's only response, "So?"

"So, the USO show is tomorrow," Dan volunteered, adding, "I hear they got Joey Heatherton!"

"Who, pray tell, is Joey Heatherton?"

"Oh, I forgot," Dan responded, "You being a limey and all, you wouldn't know. She's a movie star. The guys are saying it's a great show."

"I say, we'd better see that show then, hadn't we?" Trevor's muffled voice was heard to say.

Camp RB - Two Days Later

**Trevor hopped from the deck of the helicopter,** in the process tugging his pack onto his back.

Over his shoulder, he heard Dan say, "Man, I can't believe it! For a few hours there, I actually forgot about this place. But here we are, right back at Camp RB! Ain't that a kick in the head!"

Turning to respond, Trevor observed grimly, "You have nothing to complain about, from where I stand. You were the only guy who got called up onto the stage with that woman. There must've been three thousand guys at that show, and you were the only one got a kiss from that Joey Heatherton!"

At this, Dan flushed in embarrassment, responding, "Must be my magnetic personality. Maybe I'll look her up when I get back home. Think she'll take a shine to me, Trevor?"

"Oh, absolutely! Why else would she have picked you out of the whole damn U.S. Army?" at which he snickered sarcastically.

The silence enfolding them as they reached their tent, Dan glanced around at the familiar surroundings, observing morosely, "Damn, I was hoping the last two days were reality. I can see now that I was wrong."

Immediately dropping to a prone position on his bunk, Trevor exclaimed, "I should think you got that right!"

Two Months Later

**Eight months into Trevor's assignment** **to Camp RB** the outpost was attacked by what must have been a full company of North Vietnamese. The first two hours of the battle were touch and go, the enemy obviously being highly skilled fighters. They had chosen to attack at three in the morning, the cover of darkness concealing their deployment sufficiently that perhaps three hundred of the enemy troops were within firing range before the first shot had been fired.

Awakened by the first shots, Trevor managed to crawl into a nearby trench before any grenades had gone off. He counted eight soldiers from his platoon in the trench with him, all privates. Lieutenant Highsmith was nowhere to be seen, Trevor calculating that it would be suicide to budge from their defensive position. Accordingly, he suggested to his fellow soldiers that they keep their heads down and await further developments.

Dan crawled alongside Trevor, whispering, "Man, am I glad you're in this trench with me, buddy."

"Why ever for?" Trevor responded vacuously, "There is little to do but lay low for the moment."

"Yeah, but what if they attack our trench?" Dan queried in wide-eyed fear.

"Right, then I suppose we shall fight them off."

"We'll do better if we have a leader. What do you say boys, do you want Trevor to be in charge of this here trench?"

The chorus that came back made it clear that Trevor was in charge of his wet-nosed buddies.

Reluctantly nodding his acceptance of their choice, Trevor announced, "Right then, this is what I propose. First of all, everyone must have a minimum of fifty rounds of ammunition. Anyone who doesn't have fifty rounds, borrow some from someone who does. Who has less than fifty rounds?" Two soldiers raised their hands. "Right, whoever has excess, give them some of yours. Next, who among you managed to arrive within the trench equipped with grenades?" Four soldiers raised their hands. "Excellent. Now, turn them over to me. I don't want any grenades thrown out of this trench unless it's absolutely necessary, and if it is, I shall hand them out, got it?" The response made it clear that all eight soldiers accepted his authority.

"Now, we have but one automatic weapon between us within this trench. I've scouted every square inch of the perimeter of this camp over the past several months, and I can tell you, if they charge us, they shall come from right over there. I want that machine gun positioned so that it is aimed in that direction," and at this he pointed to show them where he meant. "That's where the enemy will hit us." At this order the boys worked together to position the machine gun in the direction Trevor had pointed.

"Right. This is my final piece of advice for the moment. Keep your heads down, and I mean way WAY down. If the top of your helmet so much as peeks above the lip of this trench, you could have it blown off. Do you hear me?" At this there was a chorus of consent. "Now, let me undertake a bit of reconnaissance, and I shall get back to you shortly." At this, Trevor crawled headlong from the trench, to the amazement of every soldier therein.

Within minutes the soldiers could hear something coming at them, at which point they heard a whispering voice call, "Hold your fire, men! It is I, Private Sutherland." And with that, he momentarily toppled into the trench directly on top of two soldiers. Rolling off of them, he announced, "Right. Prepare yourselves, gentlemen. They happen to be right behind me!"

Sure enough, within seconds they heard a burst of gunfire coming from the direction that they had set up to defend against. Peering over the lip of the trench, Trevor commanded, "Hold your fire!" The enemy fire became more intense, a couple of grenades popping off short of the trenches. One plopped into the trench, and grabbing it, Trevor gingerly lobbed it back towards the enemy without so much as the blink of an eye.

Then suddenly he cried, "I say, they are onto us boys, FIRE!" At this the trench erupted in gunfire. Trevor grabbed two grenades and, tossing them in just the right direction, the enemy attack evaporated within seconds.

"Cease firing!" Trevor ordered. He flopped down on his back along the wall of the trench for a few moments, then asked, "Anyone hit?" Hearing no response, he said, "Right-o, sound off." All eight soldiers answered. "Excellent! Right, men, it isn't over quite yet. Sit tight. They shall come at us again, and the second time they will try something quite different.

"Right, I want you two men on the left and right flanks to crawl up to the lip of the trench and peek over the top. Watch for any movement at all. They shan't shoot at you – they shall be attempting to conceal their second attack. This time they won't rise up when they come at us. Instead, they shall be crawling quite close to the ground. So watch for any movement, anything at all. And if you see something, refrain from calling out. Relay it down the line to me, and I shall come check it out. Got it?"

Once again they took their defensive positions and awaited the second attack, but nothing happened. The minutes ticked away, Trevor awaiting with mounting concern. He surmised that either there would be no second attack on their position or they were bringing up reinforcements. In any case, there was nothing they could do but wait.

He was counting the supply of grenades for the umpteenth time when he was suddenly tapped on the shoulder by Dan, who pointed to the far end of the trench. Grabbing up three of them, he crawled to the other end, whereupon Private Wilson whispered, "There's a whole lot of them, sir, I mean, Private Sutherland. They're coming for us over in that direction." Trevor leaned over the lip of the trench, peering in the direction indicated by Private Wilson. He slipped back down, whispering, "Relay it down the line – they're coming again, and they have reinforcements." He crawled back down the line, saying, "Stay low, they will attempt to throw grenades into the trench first. Anyone that sees a grenade fall in this trench, toss it out quickly!"

Within seconds the attack began, and just as Trevor had predicted, the enemy commenced their attack with grenades. Though Trevor counted seven explosions, not a single one made its way into the trench, and when the enemy small arms fire followed immediately thereafter Trevor commanded, "Commence firing, men!" He then tossed four grenades out of the bunker in the direction of the attack, once again thwarting the enemy attack within a matter of seconds.

An hour later the sun came up, at which point the attack petered out.

Trevor understood why the enemy had pulled back when four choppers flew in low a few minutes thereafter, first dropping bombs around the camp perimeter, subsequently unloading several thousand rounds of machine gun fire into the jungle. By seven A.M. nothing at all was moving beyond the camp. Thirteen Americans had been injured and three killed. Forty-two Viet Cong were found dead on the battlefield. The wounded were airlifted out within two hours of the battle.

Trevor still had no idea what they were doing out in the middle of nowhere. Reporting to Lieutenant Highsmith that morning, he muttered, "Good morning, sir."

"Good morning, Private Sutherland," Lieutenant Highsmith responded, returning his salute. "You wanted to see me?"

"Yes, sir, I did. Could I speak privately with you, sir?"

"Of course. Please follow me into my command tent," he replied.

Once inside, Trevor asked pointedly, "I say, exactly why are we here, sir?"

"That's an impertinent question, private," Bryan responded good-naturedly.

"Perhaps," Trevor persisted.

"We're protecting the left flank of the South Vietnamese forces," Bryan answered.

"Ha! I thought as much," Trevor replied. "What a ridiculous war! We don't _HAVE_ a left flank. And we're not supposed to even _BE_ in Laos, if that is indeed where we are!"

"Whatever. We're just following orders. Welcome to the United States Army, private!"

"Well said, sir, but precisely whose orders are we in fact following? I realize we're out here in the middle of nowhere, but I for one have little confidence in the leadership on our side. It seems that for our part we have an endless succession of rules that we are forced to follow, whereas the other side has no rules at all."

"True," Bryan responded, "They get to do whatever they want, but they don't have our superior weapons and firepower. So maybe things are pretty equal."

"I quite hope that you are correct, Bry, I mean, sir, because we are one _HELL_ of a long way from home, tucked out here in the jungle. I'd say that at the moment the only thing separating us from the enemy is a downwind fart."

At this Bryan chuckled, responding, "Yeah, thank God for Huey's, private. If the Cong come through here in force, we only need to hold on for a couple of hours, and they'll drive them off when the sun comes up. You saw what happened this morning."

"Right, and it just so happens we hung on by our fingernails. If the Cong had attacked two hours earlier I can't say with any degree of confidence that we would be sitting here having this discussion at this moment."

"You're right, Private Sutherland. Good point."

"Could you perhaps relay that concern up the line?"

"Yes, I'll do that." Bryan replied. "Anything else?"

"No, sir," Trevor responded.

"You're holding this platoon together, private. I assume that you know that."

"I am simply attempting to survive, sir."

"Well, you're doing a hell of a job of it. Captain Rogers told me what you did last night, holding the boys in your trench together the way you did. They found twenty-two dead Viet Cong within thirty yards of your position. Every one of the soldiers who were in the trench with you says you deserve a medal. I'm going to request a battlefield promotion for you."

"There is no need for that, sir. Indeed, I do not want such a thing," Trevor responded.

"I know, but the Army does. I'm proud of you, Trevor. You've grown immeasurably in the last year."

"Now, that I do need. Thank you for saying that, sir. I have a long way to go, but I'm trying, I really am."

"I can see that. Hang in there."

"I shall endeavor to do that, sir," and at that Trevor saluted and turned to leave the tent.

But Lieutenant Highsmith stopped him, inquiring, "Where did you learn about battlefield tactics, Private? The men are saying that you have an uncanny knack for guessing what's coming next."

"Sir, I never told you this, because it didn't seem important, but I went to a prep school that was supposed to be a pre-military training program for future officers in the British Army. It was run by a group of military retirees who had all been trained at Sandhurst. Had my father not become the British Ambassador to the U.S., I would likely now be studying at Sandhurst."

"Wow! That explains quite a lot, Private. No wonder you seem to know exactly what you're doing. It's because you actually do!"

"Sir," Trevor responded wearily, "I am simply attempting to do the best I can under the circumstances, but I'll tell you something I learned at military school. During World War II, the average Allied military unit spent less than thirty days a year in active combat. This platoon has been in active combat for almost two hundred days since we arrived here ten months ago."

Three Nights Later

**Trevor awoke at the** **first sound** **of battle**. Checking his watch, he noticed that it was still short of midnight, thereby confirming his worst fears. Within minutes it was apparent that the Viet Cong had attacked in regimental force. Trevor rallied fifteen of the soldiers in the platoon and, taking charge once again, he managed to hold a commanding position within the camp.

His fellow soldiers built a high berm around a trench, holding off at least two hundred Viet Cong for more than two hours. Still, by two A.M. it was apparent to Trevor that they would not survive until morning unless the camp was abandoned.

During a lull in the attack Trevor managed to crawl to the spot where Lieutenant Highsmith was holding off a similar attack and, nudging his body up close to Bryan's, he whispered in his ear, "I assume you know that this won't do, right?"

"Yeah, I know. We're in a mess here, Trevor. We will most likely all be dead by morning. Either that, or we'll be captured."

Trevor responded with certainty, "Capture is not an option, Bry."

"I agree."

"Then let's take what's left of the platoon and go into the jungle. Surely you agree that is our only hope."

"Not a chance. Colonel Jenkins won't hear of it."

"Screw the colonel, sir. He will be dead by morning. The way to win a war is to survive, and that is what we must endeavor to do. I say let's get out of here. We have perhaps a half hour to do something, no more, or we shall be dead."

"Give me fifteen minutes. I'll get back to you by then, okay?" Bryan commanded.

"Right, but one thing, Bry."

"What's that?" Bryan queried.

"Bring your radio."

"Got it. Now get the hell out of here, private."

Trevor crawled back to the trench where his buddies were still attempting to hold off an entire company. "How is the ammunition holding out?" he inquired.

"We're getting low," Private Simmons responded woefully.

"Right, listen up, men. This is what we shall do. Simmons, Wood, Black, crawl fifty feet in each direction. Inform the troops you come across to prepare for the possibility of a breakout. And bring back any ammunition that you can locate. We can't hold this position until morning, so be prepared for anything. Everyone get ready immediately. Be prepared to take only what you can carry, but make sure you have plenty of ammunition, because if we make a break, we shall be attacking a regimental force. Now, everyone go!"

Ten minutes later Bryan showed up, whispering to Trevor, "Sorry I'm late. Colonel Jenkins is dead. He took a grenade."

Arching one eyebrow, Trevor responded, "I told you so. Did you bring your radio?"

Bryan nodded silently, then volunteered, "Yes, and command has broken down. We're on our own," and at this he added surreptitiously, "I say we go now."

Five minutes later Bryan, Trevor and sixteen other members of the platoon crept out of the trench directly into the teeth of the enemy. They crawled perhaps forty yards and, rising up, they charged the Cong, running directly through the opposing line. An hour later the Cong overran the camp, killing the scant few still entrenched within.

Having cleared the enemy's lines, the remainder of the platoon now sprinted for their lives. Racing alongside Trevor, Bryan inquired, "So what do you propose?"

"We run like hell, and when the sun comes up, if we live that long, we call for the Huey's."

"My thoughts exactly," Bryan replied.

By now there were only fourteen soldiers who had successfully broken through with them and, chasing through the jungle as silently and rapidly as possible, they did everything within their power to stay ahead of the enemy. As it turned out, they had struck fortuitously at a weak point in the Cong's defenses, and the enemy troops had failed to realize for perhaps a quarter of an hour that they had broken through. By that time Bryan and Trevor had pushed well into the jungle, opening up a significant lead on the pursuing forces. Their challenge now was to survive till daylight, an eternity of two and a half hours in the future.

"What do you say we dig in?" Bryan asked.

"No," Trevor panted breathlessly, "They'd be on us in force within thirty minutes, sir. We have to keep moving as fast as we possibly can. There is simply no other choice."

Continuing to advance, Bryan responded, "Yeah, I see your point."

"Everyone alright?" Trevor called out.

Fourteen voices answered back, making the strength of the force still a total of sixteen. All raced onward, doing everything they could to maintain their lead over the enemy.

They pressed relentlessly forward for more than an hour, by which point several of them were on the verge of physical exhaustion. Ignoring the chain of command, Trevor commanded, "Right, everyone halt. I say, I need absolute silence. No one make a sound," and at this they all came to an immediate halt, listening for any sound at all from within the jungle. "You're much too loud. Hold your breath, please!" he ordered, and at this command there was complete silence.

Within seconds Simmons said, "Sir, I think I hear something. Sounds like they're maybe a quarter of a mile behind us."

"I see," Trevor replied. "Let's move out. We have an hour to go until daylight. Come on men, move it!"

All sixteen men pushed ahead, exhaustion rearing its ugly head, hope driving it off with every step. Forty-five minutes later Trevor called for silence once again. This time Simmons wasn't the only one who heard the enemy. They were now perhaps only two hundred yards distant.

The group moved forward silently yet again. Ten minutes later Trevor could see his hand in the growing light. "Lieutenant, better call for two Huey's now. We can only stay ahead of them for another half hour."

Bryan halted and called for support, giving them their present position. "Got it," he responded, hanging up. "Okay, they say there's a field about a mile ahead of us in the direction we're headed. Two choppers will land there in a half hour."

They made it to the field with fifteen minutes to spare, but that turned out to be too much time. The Cong caught up with them ten minutes later. There were at least a hundred of them, and, well aware that they had superior numbers, they were itching for a fight.

Trevor utilized their ten-minute lead to get the men to build three small redoubts near the middle of the field, thenceforth assembling themselves behind them in anticipation of the coming clash. Suddenly the jungle lit up with small arms fire, the Cong having finally reached them.

"How many grenades do we have?" Trevor called out.

"Two," Simmons responded from the first redoubt.

"Four," Wood replied from the second redoubt.

"One," Williams said from the third.

"Right, hold onto them. We shall need every one of them when the choppers arrive. For now, use your rifles. No unnecessary shots. Shoot to kill, understood?"

"Got it," came the response from several locations.

The Cong forces pressed forward unwisely, the daylight now sufficient for the Americans to pick off those foolish enough to show themselves.

Although the small force had a commanding defensive position, Bryan and Trevor were most concerned about what they would do when the choppers arrived in a few minutes. "I say, stay low and wait for the choppers," Trevor called out.

Suddenly a wave of perhaps twenty-five Vietcong rose up and charged from the left of their position. Trevor jumped out of the redoubt and, racing to the redoubt that Woods was in, he launched himself full force into the small trench, yelling, "Give me those four grenades!" Woods handed him the grenades and, climbing from the trench, Trevor screamed, "Cover me!" At this he took off directly towards the advancing enemy. Pulling the pin on the first grenade, he flung it in the direction of the nearest cluster of oncoming Cong, the resulting explosion taking out five of the enemy. He then kneeled for a moment, awaiting the next wave to advance within range, then yanked the pin and took out three more of the enemy.

Suddenly, he took a bullet and went down. He looked done for, but within seconds he was back up, tossing a third grenade that took out another four of the enemy. At this, the enemy attack broke up and retreated. Trevor raced back to the redoubt, collapsing within the trench.

"Are you okay?" Woods croaked.

"Never better," Trevor responded. "I seem to have been knicked a tiny bit in the shoulder."

Moments later they heard the distinctive whop whop whop of the choppers coming towards them. It was now little more than seconds to the point of rescue. Shortly thereafter, a Huey came into view. Seeing the aircraft, Williams jumped up and started running for the field. Spotting him, Trevor screamed, "No! Get down!" but it was too late. Williams went down. "Damn! No one else move!" Trevor commanded. "They are awaiting us to attempt exactly that. Stay down. The Huey's will protect us!"

"Cover me!" he called out and, slithering out of the redoubt, he inched forward. Eventually getting a grip on Williams, he dragged him back into the trench.

"How is he?" Woods queried.

"I simply cannot tell at the moment. He's unconscious," Trevor replied.

Within seconds one of the Huey's had passed by overhead, the pilot searching for the American soldiers. "Right-o, this is it," Trevor called out. "Everyone pull your grenade pins. Count to three and heave!" The soldiers responded in perfect unison, the remaining grenades exploding in a perfect arc surrounding their position.

Recognizing the pattern produced by the grenades, the pilot of the chopper that had passed overhead now swung back towards them, machine guns strafing the jungle surrounding the small force. The second Huey subsequently fired two rockets, blowing a huge gap in the center of the Cong force.

"Now, go!" Trevor screamed. "Follow me!" The remaining fourteen soldiers jumped to their feet and raced for the clearing. Trevor hoisted Williams on his shoulders and took off at a dead run.

Trevor managed to get to the chopper, dumping Williams onto the deck. Behind him he heard a grenade go off and, glancing in that direction, he saw Bryan launched skyward thirty yards distant. He halted in his tracks and, crouching low, he returned to Bryan's side.

"How bad is it?" he screamed.

"It's bad, Trevor," Bryan cried weakly, "Go on. I'm a dead man."

Ignoring Bryan's plea, Trevor grabbed Bryan and, hoisting him on his shoulders, he raced forward as fast as he could. Midway to the chopper he took a second shot in the shoulder but, churning his feet as fast as he could, he reached the chopper within seconds. He hauled Bryan onto the deck, simultaneously hoisting himself, the last man out, onboard. "Go! Go! Go! Go!" the chopper attendant screamed, the chopper now rising rapidly into the air.

"Did we get them all?" Trevor screamed above the rifle fire.

The attendant yelled back, "I count fifteen."

Rolling onto his back, Trevor screamed, "Bollocks, we lost one!" at which point everything went black.
Chapter 8

The Road Back

Vietnam - April 1970

**Peering off in the distance, Trevor spied her** , dressed in a white sundress and a broad woven hat that protected the sun's rays from her exquisite milk-colored skin. The sundress had images of tiny red poppies woven into a pattern along each of the extremities – the neckline, the sleeves, and the hem. Her shoulder length hair was a deep brown tint that was accentuated by the long graceful waves that cascaded from beneath her hat.

All was green – the hedges, the trees, the lawn - punctuated here and there by brilliant splotches of accentuating azure, crimson and tangerine emanating from flower petals. The spring air was just shy of tepid, complemented by a tingling hint of a breeze, the sun casting slits of golden beams through the tall sycamores overhead, as if the Gods had met on a whim for an afternoon of artistic enhancement of their playground below, striving if only for a few moments to paint a picture that was comparable to their own dreams.

A butterfly flitted on its haphazard way into her tiny realm, pressing close for a moment, then dipping demurely away, only to return for a second, and even a third pass, as if it too, was enchanted by the fairy princess within the garden. As if on cue, she raised one hand gracefully and, the butterfly taking its perch thereon, the ethereal scene was somehow elevated beyond the realm of earthly plausibility.

Peering through the foliage from his well-concealed vantage point, his heart pounding like a blacksmith's anvil accepting its time-worn purpose, he felt a profound sense of guilt, as if he had somehow trespassed on another dimension, one not intended for human intervention. It was stunning. Indeed, _she_ was stunning - there was no other way to describe the vision before him. Should he go forth and make himself known to her? Or was the scene before him just that – a vision of loveliness that was beyond the reach of mere mortals?

Throwing caution to the four winds, he stepped from his hiding place, meaning to advance only far enough to make his presence unobtrusively known, but as he did so, the princess glanced his way and, sprouting wings, she vanished into the heavens.

By now drifting slowly into consciousness, his memory yet clouded, Trevor struggled with furrowed brow to retain the fleeting image in his mind's eye. His eyelids fluttering, he detected a distant voice announcing, "He's coming to! Get the doctor!"

Attempting to focus, he was for some reason unable to do so. Feeling as if he were recovering from a drunken binge, he slowly dragged his eyelids open. The outline of a man's face suddenly appearing before him, Trevor concentrated wearily, hearing the man say, "Private Sutherland! Can you hear me?" There was a brief pause, and then a second and this time a more insistent sound encroached on his now fleeting serenity, "Private Sutherland! Wake up! Can you hear me? If you can hear me, move your head."

Trevor struggled impulsively to move his head. The voice said, "Good! You're in the hospital. You're alive! Do you understand me?" Trevor moved his head a second time. The voice said, "You just rest now, we're going to take good care of you. Get some rest." Trevor closed his eyes and drifted into sleep, searching, searching for the vision in the garden of his lost youth...

Vietnam - Three Days Later

**Trevor sensed rather than heard the nurse** traipse into his room. Opening a single eye, he observed her supporting a tray of food as she inquired pleasantly, "How do you feel today, Private Sutherland."

"Like I've been hit by a truck," he croaked and, attempting a tiny ill-conceived smile, he murmured, "But a lot better than yesterday, thanks."

"Excellent, private. It will take time. You just rest easy."

"Yes, Nurse Edwards," he replied drowsily.

"You have a visitor," she announced.

"Who is it?" Trevor replied groggily.

"It's a Private Wilson. He says he's your buddy."

"I see," Trevor replied. "Can you prop me up a bit? I'm quite uncomfortable."

Dan came into the room and, strolling briskly to the bed, he blurted, "How are you doing, buddy?"

"Never better," Trevor replied facetiously, attempting to smile, but finding the feeding tube too invasive to afford a full-scale grin.

"They tell me they're going to airlift you out in a couple of days. I wanted to get by to see you before you left."

"I say, I hadn't heard. Where might they be taking me?"

"Walter Reed, in Washington. That's what they told me," Dan responded.

"How are you, Dan?"

"I'm fine. I got out without a scratch, thanks to you."

"How about everyone else?"

"Only fifteen of us made it, Trevor. Everyone is okay, except for Lieutenant Highsmith and Private Williams. The lieutenant's alive, but they had to amputate both his legs. He's already been airlifted out. I don't know where they sent him. Williams is recovering. They say he'll make a full recovery. I thought that he was dead, but you saved his life for sure."

"How about the remainder of the camp?"

"By the time the Huey's got there the camp had been completely overrun. They found three survivors, all three in bad shape. One has since died. In addition, there are four missing. God only knows what happened to those poor guys."

"Damn!" Trevor replied. "I don't even know what in blazes we were doing up there."

"Me either. What I can tell you is this, we were attacked in some sort of major offensive by the North Vietnamese. Things are really hopping around here at the moment. I'm going back in with a new platoon, most likely in a few days."

"I'm sorry to hear that. Good luck, Dan."

"Trevor, before I go, I just wanted to thank you," Dan said.

"Why ever for?"

"You saved my life! Hell, you saved all of our lives. I was interviewed the day we got back here. I said you deserved the biggest medal they have in this man's army. As far as I'm concerned, you're my hero. Whatever you do, wherever you go, buddy, you're my hero for the rest of my life."

"That is quite sporting of you, Dan. I was simply trying to get out of there alive, but your words mean quite a lot to me."

"Listen, if I get out of here alive, I want to get together after this is all over, okay?"

"Certainly, that sounds quite the thing to me as well. Right-o. Hey, keep your head down, old chap."

At this Dan turned to leave the room, waving one last time as he departed.

Washington, DC – The Following Day

**Trevor was dreaming, of a lovely young lady named Rebecca.** Suddenly, a voice dragging him from his blissful state, he heard, "Soldier! Wake up!"

Blinking in confusion, he muttered woozily, "Aw hell, why'd ya hafta go and do that? I was just gettin' to the best part, Rebecca!"

The nurse shook him again and announced, "I'm not Rebecca! You were dreaming, Private Sutherland. Wake up! You need to wake up – the sedative is wearing off!"

Trevor opened a single eye and, spying the blurry face before him, he repeated, "Rebecca? Is that you?"

At this the nurse shook him again, saying, "I'm Nurse Simmons, private. There is no Rebecca here."

Suddenly lurching halfway from his bed, he exclaimed, "What? You're Rebecca! Of course you are! I may be drugged, but I know Rebecca Carey when I see her!"

At this the nurse eyed him apprehensively and repeated, "You've been given a sedative, private, for the long flight home. It's common, the drug is causing you to hallucinate."

At this Trevor screwed up his eyes and, blinking several times, he reiterated, "Surely my eyes do not deceive me. You're either Rebecca Carey, or I'm losing my mind."

"I know of no such person, Private Sutherland. Now you just rest, and I'll be back when you're feeling a bit less confused."

Trevor shook his head in disbelief but, following the nurse's orders, he drifted back into sleep.

Four Hours Later

**Trevor was wide awake, anxiously anticipating the arrival of the nurse** who'd talked to him earlier that morning, when the door swung open and in walked the nurse. But to his surprise, it was not Rebecca at all. Confusion apparent on his face, he inquired, "Where's the nurse?"

The nurse eyed him momentarily and replied, "I'm the nurse, Private Sutherland."

"No, not you," he mumbled, "The other nurse, the one who was here a little while ago."

"There is no other nurse," she responded, "I've been here all morning."

"But there was another nurse here, I swear it!" he blurted, "Her name is Rebecca, Rebecca Carey!"

"Sir, there is no Rebecca Carey working at this hospital to my knowledge," the nurse responded.

"Sure there is," he parried, "She has brown hair, mid-twenties. Surely you know her..."

"I believe that your medication may have gotten the better of you, private. It happens quite often when a soldier has been badly injured."

Washington, DC – May, 1970

**Trevor was in rehab and,** consumed with his daily workout of upper body exercises designed to restore full use of his arm and shoulder, he failed to notice the colonel that slipped in via the side door.

"Good morning, sir," the rehab specialist said on seeing the colonel approach.

"Good morning," the colonel responded. "Mind if I talk to your patient for a few minutes?"

"Not at all," the specialist replied. "Do you want privacy?"

"Yes, please," the colonel replied.

Approaching the workout machine, the colonel announced, "Private Sutherland, I'm Colonel Struthers, Army Intel."

"Good morning, sir," Trevor responded.

"I'm sure you're wondering what I'm doing here. I'll cut to the chase, private. The Army is quite proud of you for what you did over there. I am here to thank you on behalf of the U.S. military. So, thank you, Private Sutherland."

Still uncertain as to why the colonel was there, Trevor took the outstretched hand with his good left hand and shook it.

"In fact, the entire nation should be proud of you," the colonel continued. "I'm here to talk to you about that today. Private, what you did over there was pretty damn crazy. I guess you know that. No need to answer that, we have the interviews with the soldiers you saved, and they all concur. You saved fourteen lives that day, not counting your own, and every one of them says you're a damn hero."

Uncertain as to what else could be said, Trevor muttered, "Thank you, sir."

"Now, I'm certain from what your buddies tell me about you that you are not going to like this, but I'm afraid that the U.S. Army feels that you should receive something in recognition of your heroism. There will be some press included with the awarding of some medals, and there will be a public ceremony at the White House."

"Aw, hell," Trevor responded hesitantly, "Is there no way round this, sir?"

"I'm afraid not, private. After all you've done, I apologize for putting you through this added responsibility, but the Army is in desperate need of some bona fide heroes right now. So you're going to have to bear with us, private. Think of it as a duty to your fellow soldiers."

"I see, sir."

"Private Sutherland, for service beyond the call of duty, you are being awarded the Purple Heart, the Bronze Star, the Silver Star, the Distinguished Service Cross, and the Congressional Medal of Honor. In addition, the members of your platoon will be awarded the Army Valorous Unit Award and the Presidential Unit Citation. Private, you are about to be one of the most decorated soldiers in U.S. history. Congratulations."

"I...I don't know what to say..." Trevor stammered.

"You don't need to say anything at all, soldier. You are now a bona fide American war hero, and you're not even an American citizen. Now, I assume that you know that you will be released from service due to your injury."

"Yes, sir, I am aware of that."

"Good. As soon as you are able, which from the look of you appears to be very soon, the ceremony will be scheduled at the White House, and soon thereafter you will be honorably discharged from the U.S. Army."

"Sir, it has been an honor to serve in the United States Army."

"I wish you the best, Private. I will be in touch regarding the details of the awards ceremony."

Saluting with his left hand, Trevor responded, "Thank you, sir."

Returning his salute, Colonel Struthers shook his hand one more time and departed.

The White House – June, 1970

**Trevor gazed out the** window as the U.S. Army vehicle pulled up to the White House security gate.

"Now, just stay with me and don't say anything unless you're spoken to, Okay?" Colonel Struthers instructed Trevor.

Having no intention of doing otherwise, Trevor replied, "Yes, sir."

They were ushered to a holding room, and within minutes they were led to the White House Rose Garden, where members of the press had been arranged in front of a microphone strategically placed to show off the best features of the White House lawn. Trevor imagined that this was old hat to most of them.

He was instructed to stand on Colonel Struthers' left, and presently General Wheeler, Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, came toward the pair. Both soldiers saluted and, General Wheeler returning their salutes, he immediately reached out to shake Trevor's hand, offering, "Private Sutherland, it is a privilege and an honor to meet you. Our nation owes you and your fellow soldiers a great debt of gratitude. Well done, private, well done."

"Thank you, sir," Trevor responded.

General Wheeler now continued with, "The president will appear in a few moments. Don't be nervous. He will speak to you briefly, and thereafter he will make a public announcement. You will then be asked to make a public statement. Please be brief, Private Sutherland."

"Yes, sir," Trevor responded nervously, and at that moment President Nixon entered the Rose Garden. He walked directly to Trevor and, shaking his hand, he offered with an inviting smile, "Private Sutherland, welcome to the White House!"

"Thank you, Mr. President."

"I'll bet you weren't expecting to end up on the White House lawn when you enlisted!"

Trevor smiled and responded, "No, sir. That was indeed quite the furthest thing from my mind."

"I can only imagine, Private Sutherland, I can only imagine." He paused for a moment, still shaking Trevor's hand. Then, releasing his grasp, he inquired, "How is your recovery from your injury coming along?"

"I'm quite chipper, sir. The doctor says that in time I shall recover full use of my right arm."

"Excellent!" President Nixon responded. "General Wheeler has been telling me about your heroism on the battlefield. Let me say on behalf of the people of the United States of America – thank you! Our nation is indebted to you, Private Sutherland." During all of this exchange the reporters were struggling among themselves to get the best photos, and the cameras were clicking at maximum speed.

"Thank you, sir," Trevor replied.

"Now, let's get on with this ceremony so that you can get down to the business of restarting your life, soldier," the president said. He turned to the microphone and announced, "Ladies and gentlemen, as you are well aware, we are here to today to honor Private Trevor Sutherland, our nation's latest recipient of the Congressional Medal of Honor. Private Sutherland is the first British citizen to be awarded this honor since World War II. I will now turn the podium over to General Earle Wheeler, Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, who will read the citation."

At this General Wheeler stepped to the podium and said, "Ladies and gentlemen, it is a distinct pleasure to be here today to honor Private Trevor Sutherland. After exhaustive reviews with Private Sutherland's fellow soldiers, the United States Army board of review voted unanimously to award Private Sutherland the Purple Heart, the Bronze Star, the Silver Star, the Distinguished Service Cross, and the Congressional Medal of Honor. In addition, the members of his platoon will be awarded the Army Valorous Unit Award and the Presidential Unit Citation. Congress unanimously approved the awarding of the Congressional Medal of Honor on May 16, making Private Sutherland the three thousand and fifty-sixth recipient of our nation's highest military honor in its history. I will now read the citation to you:

On the night of March 27, 1970, a U.S. Army brigade of approximately one hundred eighty soldiers under the command of Colonel Ernest Jenkins was attacked at midnight by an enemy force estimated at two thousand combatants. The U.S. forces were overrun within four hours, suffering extremely heavy casualties. Colonel Jenkins was mortally wounded in the initial attack.

Private Sutherland rallied seventeen soldiers from his platoon and counter-attacked the enemy's left flank, breaking through their defenses and escaping into the jungle under cover of night. Private Sutherland then led his fellow soldiers on a three-hour chase through the jungle, traveling some fifteen miles in the process, and evading the enemy forces until daylight.

However, as two Huey helicopters approached the defensive position that had been set up by Private Sutherland and his buddies, a force of approximately one hundred Viet Cong closed in and surrounded them, attacking the small American force. Private Sutherland grabbed several hand grenades, leaped from his defensive position and singlehandedly counter-attacked the main force, successfully driving them back. In so doing, Private Sutherland sustained a flesh wound to his right shoulder.

At that point two Huey's swept into the adjacent open field and Private James Williams jumped up and ran towards the helicopter, sustaining a wound in his right side. Private Sutherland crawled from his position and dragged Private Williams to safety. He then led his fellow soldiers towards the choppers, successfully loading all of the soldiers, including Private Williams, save one. Lieutenant Bryan Highsmith took a grenade hit in the escape attempt and was immobilized by his injury. Private Sutherland retreated to Lieutenant Highsmith's aide and carried him to the waiting chopper, taking a serious wound, again in his right shoulder, during his escape. Due to Private Sutherland's heroic actions, fifteen members of his platoon survived.

General Wheeler added, "This completes the citation," and as he stepped back from the microphone the entire audience broke into spontaneous applause.

President Nixon now returned to the microphone and announced, "I will now award the Congressional Medal of Honor to Private Trevor Sutherland, one of the most honored soldiers in our nation's history!" at which the crowd applauded once again. Trevor came forward and President Nixon stepped behind him and draped the ribbon holding the medal over his shoulders, attaching it in back. The audience applauded once again, and President Nixon announced, "And now, we will have a few words from our newest recipient of the Congressional Medal of Honor, Private Trevor Sutherland himself."

Trevor stepped to the podium and commenced, "Ladies and gentlemen, it is an honor and a privilege to stand before you today to receive this medal for saving the lives of my fellow combatants. However, in truth it is they who have saved mine. It is they who deserve this honor. Thank you."

He stepped back from the microphone and President Nixon spoke one last time, saying, "And now, ladies and gentlemen, it is my privilege to announce to you that The United States Congress has on my recommendation awarded Private Trevor Sutherland honorary U.S. Citizenship. This honor has been bestowed only six times in the history of our country, having been awarded to such luminaries as Sir Winston Churchill. Congratulations, Private Sutherland."

The ceremony now apparently having reached its conclusion, Trevor responded, "Thank you, sir."

The following day the story of Trevor's receipt of the Congressional Medal of Honor appeared in the press. But that was not all. The story from the previous year was dredged up and rehashed in the news. Trevor was suddenly hailed as a flawed everyman who had made up for his transgressions of youth. Two weeks later he received a letter welcoming him back to the University of Virginia with a full scholarship should he desire to return to college. After considerable thought, he decided to re-enter UVa in the fall semester.

A Week Later

**Eyeing his wife across the kitchen table, Trevor** announced, "I've decided to go back to college, Vanessa.

"You've what!" Vanessa exclaimed furiously.

Retaining his serenity despite her loss of control, Trevor responded, "You heard me - I said I'm going back to college at UVa in September."

"What prompted this decision, may I ask?"

"They've invited me back, and I've decided that it's an opportunity to make recompense. Besides, serving in the army convinced me that I need more knowledge."

"Where will we live?" she queried.

"Vanessa, I've tried since my return, but the truth is, we're not a match. I'm so sorry to be blunt about it, but I think it's time we both moved on."

"You can't be serious, Trevor. You're just starting to recover from your war injuries."

"While that is true, it has little to do with my reasons for wanting to move on," he responded diffidently.

"Couldn't we just give it a bit of time?" she moaned.

"Look, I'm going to move back with my parents if they'll have me. I can see you need some time to absorb this, so let's just call it a trial separation for the moment. How does that sound to you?"

"I suppose I can't stop you, Trevor. But please do think about it, and be absolutely certain that this is what you want."

"Thank you, I'll shall do that," he responded, and so saying, he arose to pack his things.

Washington - November, 1970

**Trevor pushed his way through the door** to the rehabilitation room in search of Bryan. Spotting him in one corner, he approached him, saying. "Hey, Bry, how's it going today?"

"Getting a little better every day," Bryan replied, and for the first time since that night in Vietnam he actually did look better to Trevor. "How is your recovery going, Trevor?"

"Oh, I'm doing quite well, thank you. The only issue I had was right after I got back home."

"What was the problem?" Bryan inquired.

"Well, since you asked, it was all rather bizarre. It seems I had hallucinations."

"Hallucinations? What sort of hallucinations?"

"It was weird, when I woke up after the plane flight home, I could have sworn the nurse who tended to me was Rebecca Carey!"

"Really!" Bryan responded, "That is weird! How many times did you see her?"

"Only the one time. There was one other time, I could have sworn I saw her in the hallway, but my mind must've been playing tricks on me. The doctor said it was commonplace in soldiers who've had lots of medication. Anyway, I'm fine now."

"I'm glad you're better," Bryan submitted, "Best to put the past behind you, if you know what I mean."

"Yeah, I hear you, Bry. I've no idea where it came from, but it sure bothered me for a while."

"I can imagine..."

"Any idea where Rebecca is now, Bry?"

"No, none whatsoever. And to tell you the truth, I doubt we ever will know."

"Yeah, maybe it's for the better, as you said."

"Agreed," Bryan replied.

The pair chatted for several minutes about nothing in particular. Bryan eventually inquired about Trevor's return to UVa, Trevor indicating that he was doing fine, although he confessed that college had somehow become more difficult during his nearly two years away from it.

Still unable to get over his feelings of guilt over Bryan's demise, Trevor had gone over the events of that night so many times in his mind's eye, wondering each time what he could have done to spare him from this ignominious fate.

After watching the therapist work with Bryan for quite some time, Trevor inquired, "I say, what are they working on now?"

"Well, they're trying to rig me up with some sort of walking cane arrangement to get me out of my wheelchair," Bryan responded. "The biggest problem seems to be that, unlike my left leg, I lost my right leg above the knee. If I'd lost both legs below the knee, then I'd have had both knee joints, and they could have equipped me with peg legs. You know, like Captain Hook, or whoever it was."

"I see," Trevor replied. "That is indeed quite interesting, Bry. So you're telling me that the problem is that they don't know how to solve the problem of the pronation of the foot with respect to the knee joint."

"The _what_ -nation?" Bryan blurted in stupefaction.

"Never you mind," Trevor responded, adding, "You've just given me an idea. I must get back to campus to work on it. I shall see you in a couple of weeks, Bry. Keep at it. You shall walk again, I'm quite certain of it."

Charlottesville - The Following Week

**Trevor glanced up from his spot within the coffee shop**. Despite his two-year hiatus from UVa, it was still his favorite hangout. Noticing a familiar face, he observed that the guy was heading straight towards him, obviously intent on interrupting his studies.

Arriving at Trevor's side, he said, "Uh, hello, Trevor."

Scrutinizing him for a moment, Trevor responded, "Ted? Ted Sarver? Is it you?"

"Yes," and, holding out his hand to Trevor, he added, "I was afraid you might not remember me."

Taking his hand, Trevor responded, "Of course I remember you, Ted. After all, we were fraternity brothers, weren't we."

"Yes, of course," he responded doubtfully.

"Please, have a seat. What are you up to these days, Ted?" Trevor inquired graciously.

Taking the proffered seat, Ted responded with apparently growing comfort, "I'm in graduate school here, studying business."

"Why, that's excellent!" Trevor exclaimed, "I'm still struggling to get my undergraduate degree."

"I know, Trevor. Everybody at UVa knows. You've become the most famous student on campus. Heck, you're probably more recognizable than the president of the university!"

Chortling convivially at this, Trevor responded, "I remember when it wasn't that way."

"Yes, well, that's what I stopped by to tell you about," Ted responded.

Tilting his head in puzzlement, Trevor inquired, "Oh? What might that be?"

"Hey, it may be nothing, but one of my high school buddies came to see me this week. His name is Bob Reynolds. I doubt you've ever met him, since he didn't go to UVa."

"No, I can't say that the name rings a bell," Trevor responded.

"Anyway," Ted continued, "Bob was at the Lambda Xi house the night that Rebecca Carey did her show in Richmond."

Suddenly uneasy with the direction the conversation was heading, Trevor replied doubtfully, "So, what's this all about?"

"Well, Bob says she's alive, Trevor," Ted exclaimed succinctly and, seeing Trevor's incredulous reaction, he repeated, "Bob says that Rebecca is alive!"

"What!" Trevor blurted in stupefaction. "What on earth are you talking about?"

"Bear with me, buddy. Bob was really taken with the woman who put on the show at the Lambda Xi house in Richmond two years ago, so much so that he told quite a few of his friends about it after he graduated and moved back to Baltimore. Eventually one of his friends told him that he had seen a woman perform what appeared to be the same act at a place in Little Italy."

"You're kidding!"

"I'm afraid not. I realize it sounds crazy, but I thought you'd want to know."

Trevor peered at him in amazement and asked, "Just exactly where is this supposed to have happened?"

Ted eyed him diffidently and responded, "She's working at a strip club called The Stafford Club. It's in Baltimore."

"Baltimore?"

"Yes, Trevor, that's what I'm saying. Bob says his friend described it to him, and she's doing the same show she did at the frat house in Richmond. He swears it's her, Trevor."

At this revelation, Trevor was so overwhelmed that he nearly toppled his chair. Contemplating this unexpected development, he exclaimed, "If this is true, then Rebecca is indeed alive!"

"Yep," his friend responded.

"Right. I can't even think straight. I say, I must think on this, Ted. Whatever shall I do?"

"You'll think of something, buddy, of that I'm quite certain."

Charlottesville – Five Days Later

**Trevor had by now moped around for several days** in a vain attempt to come to grips with this new possibility. Could Rebecca really be alive? And if so, what on earth was she doing performing in a gentlemen's club in Baltimore? He eventually came to the realization that while he desperately hoped that she was indeed alive, he feared seeing her again more than anything he could imagine, Sergeant Struthers included. Ultimately, there was no escaping it – he had no choice but to find out if Ted's friend Bob had been correct.

Accordingly, the following Saturday Trevor climbed into his car at midday and drove the three and a half hours to Baltimore. Since he had never been to Baltimore, he decided to make a day of it, perhaps providing himself a distraction from this all-consuming development. Arriving at the inner harbor late in the afternoon, he sauntered around a bit, idly taking in the harbor. Eventually he stopped in a bar, downed a much-needed drink, and subsequently dined at an Italian restaurant in Little Italy.

Armed with directions given to him by the restaurant cashier, he found the club quite easily. Standing in front of the door, he nonetheless hesitated, terrified to face what the next few minutes might produce. Gathering his resolve, he entered the club, discovering with considerable relief that it was at least a classy place. If Rebecca was indeed working here, it could have indeed been quite a bit worse.

Thus reassured, he sauntered to the bar and, plopping down nonchalantly, he ordered a scotch and water. He watched several of the acts somewhat distractedly, eventually realizing that at this rate he could be there all night awaiting her performance, assuming that she did indeed work there at all.

Considering his options, he decided as a means of maintaining anonymity to avoid asking the bartender any questions at all. Instead, he concentrated on the clientele in the hope that someone might know something about her. Over the course of the next couple of hours he kept at it, eventually conversing with a guy who confided that he had seen a performance that sounded like it might be her.

Eventually one of the bouncers came up to him, volunteering, "Hi, I'm Greg."

Not knowing exactly how to react to this intrusion, Trevor responded, "Hi."

"I work here," he said.

"Right, I can see that," Trevor volunteered noncommittally.

At this Greg eyed him suspiciously and said, "Hey, Joe over there says you were asking about one of the performers."

Attempting to conceal his real reason for being there, he replied nonchalantly, "Oh, right-o, I suppose I was indeed."

"Why? Are you looking for her?"

"What? No, on the contrary, I'm not looking for anyone in particular. I simply heard from a friend that one of the performances is quite worth the price of admission to The Stafford Club."

"Ah," he replied, "Yeah, lots of guys come here to see her. She's quite a dancer, if you ask me. What's your name?"

"Trevor, Trevor Sutherland," he blurted.

"Well, she comes in on Mondays through Friday nights. I'll tell her you were looking for her."

"Oh, there's no need at all for that," he responded, "She doesn't know me."

"Okay. Anything else I can do for you?"

"No, but thanks for your help," Trevor responded pleasantly, and shortly thereafter he departed for the long drive back to Charlottesville.

Baltimore - Two Days Later

**Rebecca moseyed into** **the dressing room** at the Stafford Club and, plunking herself down, she appeared quite exhausted.

"Hey," Mimi volunteered, "How you doing, Wendy?"

"Okay," Rebecca responded wearily, "Just a bit tired, I suppose."

"You need to move out of that YWCA and move in with me," Mimi responded.

"I will, Mimi. I promise. But not yet, okay?"

"Sure," Mimi responded, "But soon, okay?"

"Alright."

"Hey, I almost forgot," Mimi volunteered, "Greg told me there was a guy in here on Saturday looking to see my act, you know, the one you helped me put together. He said the guy was quite a hunk."

Her guard suddenly coming up, Rebecca queried, "A guy?" What guy?"

"Oh, just some guy. He said he didn't actually know me, but since he'd heard about the act, he came in to see it. I assume that you're aware that isn't the first time I've heard that line. My act is in big demand here, you know. Anyway, I was interested, so I asked Greg if the guy told him anything about himself."

Contemplating for a moment, Rebecca inquired, "So what did Greg say to that?"

"He said the guy's name was Trevor Sutherland. I remember it distinctly, because there was an article in the newspaper a few months ago about a guy with the same name, a Vietnam War hero."

"Trevor Sutherland! Did he have an English accent?"

"Yeah, Greg said he did," Mimi responded, "Say, how'd you know that?"

"Damn!" Rebecca exclaimed in evident misery.

"What? What's the matter, girl?"

"I know that jerk!" Rebecca grumbled.

"Jerk! He's a jerk?" and, halting momentarily to gather her thoughts, Mimi suddenly put in, "Wait a minute! That wasn't just a guy with the same name. I think that was _the same guy_!"

"What same guy?" Rebecca asked in confusion.

"The same guy as the one in the newspaper article. I'm positive! There was a picture with the article. He was at the White House with President Nixon. The article said that he was like the most honored soldier in the whole universe. I mean, he's some sort of national hero or something, and it said that he was the first Englishman to win the Medal of Honor since World War II."

"Damn!" Rebecca snarled. There was a brief silence, Rebecca subsequently blurting out furtively, "I've got to go to the bathroom, Mimi. I'll be right back."

Now aware that the time had come for decisive action, Rebecca left the club straightaway, her stomach churning uncontrollably.

The Following Morning

**Awaking in an awful state, Rebecca rushed down to the public library** and, paging through the back issues, she searched for an article from the period described by Mimi. Just as Mimi had described to her, there he was on page one of the Baltimore Sun Times, shaking hands with the President of the United States. By the time she'd completed the article she was absolutely furious. In less than two years the jerk had turned his entire life around, and she was living at the YWCA, working by necessity in a strip club. Dropping her face into her hands, she sobbed miserably to herself. Such a revelation was simply beyond unjust.

Washington – The Following Day

**Inspector Rush answered the** phone, saying, "Rush, here."

"Ha!" Rebecca replied, "That's exactly what I had in mind, Inspector Rush."

"Rebecca! It's great to hear your voice. What did you say?"

"I was saying that I want to 'rush there'. I want to come in, Inspector."

"Oh, my, so you've finally decided to do it. Good for you, Rebecca. When?"

"How about today, Inspector?"

"Perfect! Works for me! When and where?"

"Meet me at Union Station at three P.M. Okay?"

"I wouldn't miss it for all the money in the world, Rebecca. I've been waiting for this day for two years! Which train?"

"I'll be arriving from Baltimore."

"Alright, see you then! Bye!"

Rebecca arrived right on time at Union Station, Inspector Rush easily picking her out of the arriving throng despite her altered hair style. Walking directly to her, he posited, "Rebecca! I'm Inspector Rush. I'd have known you anywhere."

A pleasant smile washing over her, she responded, "It's a pleasure, Inspector."

"It's so good to finally meet you," he replied. "So, you were in Baltimore all this time. What were you doing, if you don't mind me asking?"

"I was working in a strip club," she answered candidly.

"No kidding!" he exclaimed in utter amazement. "I'd never have even guessed. "Why?"

"There was no other legal way that I could think of to make a living without the possibility of being discovered."

"Ah, good point," he responded thoughtfully.

"I turned out to be wrong anyway."

At this, he arched one eyebrow in surprise, inquiring, "Oh, how so?"

"That creep Trevor Sutherland caught up with me, at least he nearly did."

"He did! Hmmm, I wonder how he did that."

"I don't know. Fortunately, I wasn't there when he came into the club. Like an idiot, he told the bouncer his real name, and the bouncer subsequently passed it on to me. That was Saturday night."

"Ah, so that's why you called me in such a panic."

"Yes, I realized that I had to get out of there quick," she replied and, changing the subject, she inquired, "So, where to now, Inspector?"

"Right, we have a secure facility here in DC. We're going there first for processing. Then we'll give you a short training course on the witness protection program. After that, we'll look at options as to where you can be relocated."

"Will you be my case handler, Inspector?"

"Yes, if you want me to. I would consider it an honor, Rebecca."

"Yes, I do, please."

"Consider it done. So, we'd better get going, Union Station is much too public for my taste."

They turned and, heading for his car in the parking garage, he asked, "I suppose you've heard about Trevor Sutherland's notoriety?"

"Yes, but only yesterday. My friend Mimi told me that she'd seen his picture in the newspaper a few months back. So I went to the public library yesterday morning and found the article. She said he'd driven from Charlottesville. I gather that he's been readmitted to UVa."

"Correct. After all the positive press, they practically begged him to return to school there. He's a national hero, you know."

"So I hear."

"How does that make you feel, Rebecca?"

"Mad as hell, to tell you the truth."

"Good, you should feel that way. He's back on top, and you're still trying to dig your way out of this mess, one that he bears a great deal of responsibility for creating."

"Yep," was her only response.

"Well, from here on, I think that things will steadily improve for you, perhaps slowly at first, but I am confident you will be glad you came in."

"I hope so, Inspector. I certainly hope so."

Baltimore - Three Days Later

**Trevor parked his car** **on the street** and made his way directly to the club. Experiencing a mixture of giddiness and extreme trepidation, he entered and found a seat at the bar. As he had no idea how long it would be before her arrival onstage, he settled in with a much-needed sedative of scotch and patiently awaited her performance. Eventually, the performer he'd come to see waltzed onstage, at which point Trevor realized immediately that it wasn't Rebecca.

Baffled and confused that someone other than Rebecca would be performing Rebecca's act, he decided that it simply couldn't be coincidence. He therefore moved down to a seat directly in front of the stage, and when her performance was at an end, he tipped her generously. Ten minutes later she came out and sat down next to him.

"Hey, big boy," she offered.

"Hello, Miss Mimi," he volunteered, "How's tricks?"

"Oh, you tell me, mister war hero."

"I say! How did you know about that?"

"We're not idiots around here, you know. Greg told me you were in last week looking for me, and I recognized your name from the clip in the newspaper."

"I see."

"You lied to the bouncer," she accused.

"I did?"

"Yes, you said you didn't know me. Of course, I actually don't know you, but when I told her about you, I suddenly realized it was her you knew."

"Right. I apologize, but I didn't want to upset her. That's all."

"Well, you didn't upset me, but you sure as hell upset Wendy when I told her you'd been here looking for me."

"What? Who the heck is Wendy?"

"You tell me," Mimi responded, "Because she sure as hell knows you."

"Wait a minute," he reflected, "Are you telling me you know my friend?"

"How else would I know the act you came to see? She's the one who helped me put it together."

"Yeah, that's what I figured," he mumbled, "I'm Trevor, Trevor Sutherland."

Holding her hand out to him, she responded, "Please to meet you, Trevor."

Taking her hand, he responded, "Likewise, Mimi. I take it you're a friend of hers."

"That's right," she replied, "She's my very best friend. And just who exactly are you?"

"Oh, I'm just an acquaintance," he prevaricated.

"I doubt that very seriously," she accused.

"What makes you say that?"

"The fact that she has disappeared."

"I say, that is quite unfortunate!"

"I'll say! Actually, that's probably an understatement. The minute I said your name, she said she had to go to the bathroom, and nobody's seen her since."

"What? How long ago was that?"

"That was Monday night."

"Oh...damn! So she's not here tonight?"

"Nope. She's disappeared off the face of the Earth, I'm afraid."

"Right," he remarked miserably. "I need a stiffer drink. Bartender, might I have another scotch? Make it a double."

Mimi now eyed him dubiously, querying, "So, are you now going to tell your newfound buddy Mimi what the hell is going on between the two of you?"

At this Trevor glanced forlornly at her and replied diffidently, "Long story, Mimi."

"I have all night, big boy. And you look like you NEED to talk to somebody. Trust me, I'm your best buddy where she's concerned."

"Are you indeed friends?"

"The best - I absolutely adore Wendy."

"Right," he murmured but, catching himself, he blurted, "Wait a minute, what name is she going by?"

"Wendy, Wendy Gardner."

"That isn't her name."

"I never thought it was. What is her real name, Trevor?"

"Right, stands to reason, since she's on the run," he murmured to himself and, turning back towards Mimi, he announced, "Her name is Rebecca, Rebecca Carey."

"On the run? Why is she on the run?"

"As I indicated - long story."

"Well, let's get a booth and you can tell me all about it, okay?"

"I believe that I should quite appreciate that. Actually, I think I should benefit greatly from talking with you about it."

The pair ended up commiserating together for two hours, and though Mimi was horrified at Trevor's disclosure, she now understood the situation.

As they ended their talk, he said, "Thanks for listening, Mimi. I've had this whole sad affair inside me for going on two years, and frankly, it's killing me."

"You messed up, big time," she offered succinctly.

"Understatement...big understatement, but you know, as bad as it was and still is, when she went over the side of that yacht, she started my sorry life on the road to redemption."

"And it looks like you've accomplished it," she responded empathetically.

"No," he responded, capturing her gaze with his, "Not a chance, not by a long shot. As long as she is out there, as long as she has not been accorded absolute retribution, there can be no absolution for me, nor should there be."

"So, is that why you came looking for her, Trevor?"

"Yes, I mean, no. Actually, I was just hoping to verify that she's alive and, having accomplished that much, I feel that it hasn't been for naught. And in a certain way, I am relieved that she made off without my having the opportunity to see her again."

"Why?"

"Well, you cannot imagine what it's like – surely she must absolutely despise the person that I am. It is quite difficult to bear."

"You mean 'were', the person that you were, Trevor."

"Right, I appreciate you saying that Mimi, but I don't feel that I have earned that distinction. The fact that I am a war hero doesn't really prove anything at all. So in a way, it's good that she has moved on. Now I can continue my pursuit of my own redemption, and perhaps someday I shall actually achieve it. If she were dead, I don't think that would even be a possibility for me."

"For your sake, I hope so. In the meantime, would you care to sample my muffins?"

"In the light of our discussion, you must surely know that I cannot, Mimi."

"Yes, I do know, but I just wanted to hear your answer. You, mister war hero, are in love with her."

At this unexpected accusation, Trevor glanced miserably at her and mumbled, "I do not deserve to even consider such a possibility, I'm afraid."

"Well, best of luck in your pursuit. And if there is anything that I can do, including letting you sample my muffins, you know where you can find me."

"Thanks, Mimi. Thanks for everything. Goodbye."

Washington – The Following Day

**Inspector Rush inquired,** "So, where do you think that you'd like to be placed, Rebecca?"

"I've thought about that," she responded. "I think that I'd like to move to England."

"That is normally out of our jurisdiction, as I'm sure you well know, but under the present circumstances it just might be possible. I will see what I can do. Give me a couple of hours. Now, what do you think that you would like to do, I mean professionally, if we assign you to somewhere in England?"

"I've been thinking about that. I've been watching the bartender mix drinks at the club I worked at. I think I'd like to be a bartender in a pub."

"Excellent. That just might fly. I'll let you know shortly. In the meantime, keep studying those training manuals I gave you."

Washington International Airport - A Week Later

**Rebecca somehow felt disinclined** to get up from her seat in the waiting area, despite the fact that the passengers had begun lining up to board the aircraft. "Now that the moment has arrived, I'm not sure that I can do it, Inspector," she mumbled woefully.

He smiled at her, cajoling, "Now, my dear, there's no turning back. Look at it this way – you're going forward to a new life."

"I know, but I feel like I'm losing a newfound friend. You've been so good to me. Thank you so much. I'll miss you terribly."

"Ditto," he replied, but then his face changed a bit and he inquired, "Why didn't you tell me the truth?"

Her face suddenly draining of all color, she blurted, "What? What truth?"

"You also did your show once in Richmond, didn't you."

Frowning in denial, she responded morosely, "What on earth are you talking about, Inspector?"

Arching an eyebrow in surprise, he posited, "There's no point in denying it, Rebecca. I have the evidence."

"I, I...," she stammered, "I've no idea what you're talking about."

Continuing to eye her doubtfully, he responded, "Okay, well, let's just let that one lie for the time being..."

"Alright," she replied forlornly.

"Listen, there's a lot more to this whole mess than you know," he suggested.

"You think so?" she replied in apparent surprise, but then she pondered a moment and added, "What I can't figure out is why Trevor did it."

"Right. I promise you, I'm going to get to the bottom of it, Rebecca."

"Good. And will you promise me that when you do, you will tell me, Inspector?"

"Of course," he replied.

Turning to face him directly, she whispered, "I miss you already."

He smiled at her once again, but this time his smile tinged with sadness, he offered, "There now, Rebecca, I'm feeling it, too. You must know that, but look at the bright side, we are now friends - real friends - forever. We'll keep in touch, and if you need anything, I'll be here for you. Agent Farnsworth will take good care of you in London, and you'll be far safer there than you could possibly be on this side of the Atlantic. Now, stand up and give me a farewell hug."

The pair embracing, she pulled back and brushed away a wayward tear, murmuring, "Goodbye," and at this, she turned and strode to the gate. She looked back and, waiving to him one last time, she disappeared down the gangway.
Chapter 9

Unexpected Aide

Washington - January, 1971

**Trevor glanced about, the scene before him one of total chaos** within the small warehouse. There were parts strewn everywhere, machines placed here and there for metal and wood working. Although the building was clearly ancient, it was at least clean and well-maintained. There were four men within, each working methodically on the development of a specific mechanical device.

Trevor and Bryan were struggling to attach a rather complicated looking appendage to the stump of Bryan's right leg. Over in the back of the garage, Dan was working on a piece of metal with the lathe and, briefly halting his work, Bobby was sweeping up the floor in an attempt to stay ahead of the burgeoning mess that was seemingly growing by the moment.

"How does that fit, Bry?" Trevor inquired.

"Fits okay! Let's see if it hurts when I stand on it. Give me a hand up from my wheelchair."

Trevor tugged Bryan forward, holding him so that he wouldn't tumble onto his face.

Gaining his balance momentarily, Bryan now added, "Okay, this is working. This just might be the breakthrough that we've been looking for, Trevor. Let me go now."

At this Trevor eyed him hopefully, but nevertheless refused to let go.

"I said, let me go, Trevor! I've fallen more times than you could ever begin to count. There's only one way to find out if it works, so let me go!"

Trevor backed up doubtfully and, still holding Bryan, he released one arm ever so slowly, then the other.

Bryan, now standing motionless, announced ecstatically, "Oh, man, this feels good! I can place even weight on both legs. Both artificial limbs feel really comfortable." He continued to stand motionless for a moment, then suggested, "Okay, let's try this really slow now. First, I'll put all of my weight on the left leg. I've done that a thousand times before. That should be easy. He slowly lifted his newest appendage and stood on his left artificial leg. He kept his balance without difficulty. "Okay, so far so good," he exclaimed. "Now, for the real test – standing on the right leg - the one with the newly attached pronating knee. Okay, here goes, Trevor!" At that moment, all eyes in the warehouse turned to stare in apprehension.

Bryan slowly lifted his left leg and stood on his newest appendage. "My goodness!" he spluttered. "I don't want to get too overly optimistic yet, but this is looking really promising! Okay, now for the home run ball, boys. First, pull the wheel chair away, just in case I fall down, I don't want to be tripping over it."

At this, Dan moved the wheelchair.

Bryan, slowly leaned forward and took a single step, subsequently announcing, "Okay, that was the easy one. The pressure is on the non-pronating leg. Now, here we go, the difficult one," at which point he stepped forward, landing with all of his weight on the new appendage. "Oh...my...God!" was all he could think of to say.

At this Trevor grabbed him in a giant bear hug, exclaiming, "Right-o! We have it, Bry. You're walking! I knew it. You're back! This is beyond description. We are in business!"

Bryan thrust Trevor away and strode precariously about the room. "Wow! I'm walking, and it doesn't hurt at all! I know, it looks bad to you guys, but I'll get better. You'll see. Before long you won't even be able to tell they're artificial. Trevor, I can't begin to thank you. I confess, I doubted you, but why I did I'll never know. When you said I'd walk again, I thought it was a pipe dream. But here I am. You've given me my life back, and not once, but twice. Thank you!" and at this, Trevor grabbed and clutched him yet again.

Baltimore - September, 1971

**Mimi sashayed onto the stage** **for her final performance** of the evening. The crowd was average and she was worn out from the long hard week, but she was nevertheless determined to perform like the pro she was. Giving it her best, she ensured that her performance was to the satisfaction of every member of the audience.

Towards the end of her act she noticed a somehow familiar person in the audience. She couldn't be certain in the darkness, but something told her that it just might be an old friend. Still, having a show to complete, she maintained her composure to the end, subsequently making her way as quickly as possible backstage.

Once dressed, she rushed back out in the hope that the person was more than an apparition, but the now empty chair forestalled her anticipated reunion. Glancing around the room, she determined that there was no one fitting the description of the person she was certain she had not imagined. She raced outside and, standing before her was the apparition, silent, motionless, awaiting the appearance of her adored friend Mimi.

"Oh, my God! It IS you! Oh God, Wendy, or Rebecca, or whatever your name is. Come here, girl. Give your girlfriend Mimi a hug!"

"God, it's great to see you," Rebecca beamed, and so saying, the pair embraced.

"Come on. Let's get out of here," Mimi said and, joining arms, they marched together into the awaiting darkness.

In keeping with the working hours of exotic dancers, the following morning they awoke late, breakfasting at noon in their favorite diner. "So, you're living in London. How is it?" Mimi asked between bites.

"I just love it, Mimi! I can't even begin to tell you how much better my life is since I moved there."

"Good for you, girl," Mimi grinned at her in satisfaction. "So what on earth has brought you back to Baltimore?"

"Actually, you have, Mimi."

"Don't tell me you came all this way to find out about my last meeting with Trevor Sutherland!"

"No, it's not that at all, although, since you mention it, I am curious how that went."

"So what ARE you here for, Rebecca?"

"Hee hee," Rebecca giggled. "That's the first time you've ever called me that!"

"Well, thank you very much. I had to find out your real name from some schmuck!"

"True, and likewise - also true. Anyway, I just love hearing you say my real name. Mimi, you're my very best friend in the whole world. You know that, don't you?"

"Aw, geez, girl, don't get maudlin on me. You'll make me cry when you leave town."

"Right. Well, that's why I'm here."

"Ok-kay..." Mimi responded, now nonplussed, but nevertheless intrigued by Rebecca's cryptic response.

"How old are you, Mimi, thirty-three?"

"Thirty-four," she responded unabashedly.

"Have you ever thought about the possibility that the muffins might someday, let's say, let you down?"

"Hee," Mimi giggled and, hugging her chest proudly, she added, "Yes, of course, but I will never forsake them, whatever their lot in life."

"Well, that's certainly comforting to know," Rebecca responded irreverently, "But completely beside the point. The point is this - dancers eventually need to find other means of employment, if you know what I mean."

"Of course I know what you mean. So what's your point?"

"Mimi, I own a pub in London. How would you like to move to London and go into business with me?"

"What! I can't do that, girl!"

"Give me one good reason why not," Rebecca responded assertively.

"Well, there's...no, that's not a reason. Well, then there's...oh, hell, I don't know. I guess I'm just afraid. After all, I don't speak like folks do over there."

"Let me ask you something, Mimi. Have you ever thought about getting married? I mean, would you like to be married someday?"

"Well, heck yeah. Doesn't every girl dream of that?"

"Right. How many exotic dancers do you know that are married?"

"Not a lot," Mimi responded morosely.

"Exactly. Now, suppose that instead of being an exotic dancer, you were a respectable owner of a pub, and suppose also that it was located where nobody knew that you'd ever been a dancer. What do you think your chances of getting married would be then?"

"Okay, okay, I get your point. But I can't afford to be part owner of a pub. I don't have any money. See, there's a really good reason!"

"Well, I suppose I may as well tell you, that is not exactly true, Mimi."

"What? I don't understand."

"You own twenty percent of my pub in London."

"What! What exactly have you gone and done, girl?"

"Don't act like you're dumb, Mimi, because we both know that you're sneaky smart."

"Oh, whatever. I'd still like to hear it straight from your lips, girl. What's going on?"

"I miss you, Mimi. I miss you tons. I need you with me in London."

"Thanks," Mimi replied, "I miss you, too, a hell of a lot. But this is big. I have to think."

"Don't think, Mimi, just come with me. And if you don't like it, you can always come back home. But trust me when I say this, you're going to love it. And those London guys are going to worship you like a goddess. There's something about London boys and bountiful muffins, especially bountiful _Yank_ muffins. Mimi, you will be the rage, you'll see."

"Aw, heck, you got me going, girl. I'm thinking I might just do it. God, it would be great to be together again."

"And think about this, Mimi – no more lecherous deviates to deal with!"

"Well, there is that, but I've always kind of enjoyed the attention."

"Believe me, Mimi, you won't have to take off a single stitch of clothing, and you'll have them eating out of your hand."

Three days later the pair boarded a plane for London.

London – October, 1975

**Lady Sutherland sat at the table** **awaiting the arrival of her lunch partner**. As she did so, she thought back over the events since that night on the Potomac. How and why Rebecca Carey had made her way to London was a mystery to her, but in any event, it appeared that she was about to have her questions answered. Indeed, she had been beside herself with anticipation ever since she had received the telephone call the previous Monday.

Staring into space in reminiscence, she was suddenly distracted by the approach of a brown-haired young woman. Immediately struck by her elegant appearance, Lady Sutherland noticed that not only was she gorgeous and well dressed, she exuded self-confidence. Advancing directly toward her table, the young lady said politely, "Lady Sutherland, it's been quite a long time since last we met. I am Rebecca Carey."

Rising from her chair, she responded, "Yes, my dear, of course you are. I'd have known you anywhere. And in answer to your question – I'm am quite well. And you, how have you been all these years?"

"I've been surviving just fine," Rebecca replied self-deprecatingly.

"My dear Rebecca, it is so good to see you again after all this time."

"Thank you, Lady Sutherland, and thank you for agreeing to meet me for lunch."

"I assure you, the pleasure is all mine," Lady Sutherland replied graciously. "Please, won't you have a seat?"

Accepting the proffered seat, Rebecca responded cordially, "Thank you."

They shared a pleasant lunch, conversing about nothing of importance, simply making use of an opportunity to get to know one another better. By the time dessert was concluded Lady Sutherland could contain herself no longer, inquiring, "So, what brings you to London, my dear?"

"Oh, I live here. I've lived here for nearly five years."

"I see. That is certainly interesting news. How did you come to move here?"

"I'm in the U.S. Federal witness protection program. I asked for and received approval to move here incognito."

"Then why ever on earth are you meeting with me, my dear if you are in hiding?"

"Oh, I've wanted to meet you for some time, Lady Sutherland. Of course, it was necessary to obtain approval from my handler in order to do so. Once it was finally granted, I telephoned you immediately."

"Is it safe, my dear?"

"I should think so," Angelica responded. "If you will glance in that direction there," and she nodded to where she meant, "The gentleman who is sitting alone is my handler, Agent Farnsworth."

"Ah, that explains quite a bit," Lady Sutherland replied approvingly. "So what do you do here in London?"

"I own a pub."

At this, Lady Sutherland giggled reprovingly but responded, "Well, that certainly sounds exciting. I'll bet you have plenty of lads continuously hovering about. You are quite lovely, you know."

"Thank you, but I'm not really interested in 'lads', as you put it."

"Why, my dear? Life is far too short to miss out on the fun."

"I'm too busy. I'm trying to keep up with the operation of the pub. That keeps me going night and day."

"I see," Lady Sutherland replied knowingly. "So, perhaps we can now move on to the purpose of your invitation to dine together."

Momentarily gazing doubtfully at her, Rebecca said, "I'm not sure. Actually, I have no idea why, now that you ask. I just knew that I needed to see you again."

As no one had ever accused Lady Sutherland of being a fool, she immediately sized up the source of Rebecca's angst, replying accordingly, "My dear, I cannot do you justice by apologizing to you for my son's unforgivable treatment of you, but were it within my power, you must know that I would do so."

"Thank you, Lady Sutherland. That is a great comfort. Actually, you don't know how much that means to me. The truth is, I suppose I'm not yet over it. Perhaps I hoped that by coming here today it might help me to move on with my life. However..." and at this point she paused thoughtfully.

"However what, my dear?"

"However," Rebecca reasserted, "It seems that I was mistaken. Perhaps I hoped that you might be some haughty self-righteous reprehensible person that could help me to understand from whence your son acquired the despicable traits that he employed to affect my demise.

"But you destroy my theory, Lady Sutherland. You have thoroughly laid waste to it by your absolutely marvelous treatment of me today. Thus, sadly, I fear that I shall find it necessary to look elsewhere for the underlying cause."

At this, Lady Sutherland responded, "My dear, I can see that you are in terrible pain. I am so sorry that you feel this way. Had I known of your circumstances I should have offered my help long ago. But now that you have so boldly revealed yourself to me, I simply cannot sit by and allow this to continue. Please, I beg of you, let me help you."

"I don't understand," Rebecca responded, "How can you help me?"

"My dear, trust me. I am already forming an idea in my mind. You may be surprised to know this, but I am not completely devoid of abilities where matters of the heart are concerned."

"Matters of the heart? I'm sure I have no idea what you are talking about, Lady Sutherland."

"There, there," Lady Sutherland responded, patting her on the hand, "You just give your newest friend a bit of time, and I can promise you some progress that will surely meet your approval. Agreed?"

"That is very kind of you. Under the circumstances, I accept."

"Now, where may I reach you when I have news to report, my dear?"

"Crown and Arms Pub, North Dulwich."

"Excellent! I used to live in North Dulwich, you know, quite a long time ago. I shall be in touch," and at this the two clasped hands politely, Rebecca rising thereafter to depart.

Washington – November, 1975

**Trevor was in the lab** working on a variation of his latest prosthetic device for soldiers whose legs were amputated above the knee. He loved doing this sort of work. He was not born to be a manager of a multi-million-dollar corporation, but he nevertheless accepted the responsibility because he understood that someone had to do it.

Since the successful implementation of Bryan's artificial leg, the team had worked night and day seven days a week for more than three years without even stopping to catch their breath. With literally thousands of Vietnam War veterans to equip, each one with special needs, there had been little time for rest. Their company, Lifelike Prosthetics, had turned the profitability corner and was now the largest supplier of prosthetics in North America. The tiny warehouse of yesteryear had long since vanished due to the necessity for larger quarters.

Trevor was quite proud of what they were doing, not only for servicemen, but for limbless people from all walks of life. Between his mechanical engineering instincts, Dan's and Bobby's indefatigable work ethic, Bryan's innate business talents, and Sarah's people skills, they had built a successful company that now employed more than three hundred full-time staff.

The phone in the lab rang and, answering it absentmindedly, he mumbled, "Trevor here."

"Mr. Sutherland?"

"Yes, Wanda. What's up?"

"There is a man on the phone. He says he's an inspector at the Washington, DC Police Department. His name is Stephen Rush. He says that you know each other. He asked if you could give him a minute of your time."

Wondering what the inspector might be calling about after all these years, he responded, "I see. Put him through."

After a moment he heard a click, a voice on the other end saying, "Mr. Sutherland, this is Inspector Rush. I assume that you remember me."

"Yes, of course I remember you, Inspector. I can still feel the twinge from your well-placed barbs, even after all these years."

"You deserved it, Mr. Sutherland. I assure you, you deserved it."

"Yes, Inspector, I cannot deny that I deserved that and far worse." He then added, "But that is surely not what you called about today. How may I be of service to you?"

"Mr. Sutherland, I would like to ask for a bit of your time. I wouldn't blame you if you declined my invitation, but I believe that I may have information that would be of interest to you."

"Exactly what do you have in mind, Inspector?"

"Could you meet me at lunchtime?"

"When? What day?"

"Why today, of course. Could you meet me for lunch at The Minuteman Inn, near Washington Circle at, say, one o'clock?"

"Certainly, sir. I would be happy to meet you. I shall see you then. Goodbye, inspector."

Replacing the phone in its cradle, he mused to himself, "I wonder what that is about."

He arrived for lunch right on time, the inspector already sitting at a table awaiting his arrival. Approaching him, Trevor thrust his hand forward and offered, "Good afternoon, Inspector Rush."

Politely taking his in return, the inspector replied, "Good afternoon, Mr. Sutherland. Have you eaten here before?"

Taking a seat, Trevor responded, "No, I've not had the pleasure. What might you recommend?"

"I personally prefer the crab cakes," he responded. "They're to die for, much better than you could imagine."

"Right," Trevor replied pleasantly, and it was clear that their rendezvous was already off to a much-improved start over their previous encounters. They ordered lunch and, first discussing both the requisite weather and global politics, Inspector Rush eventually worked his way around to the reason for his visit.

"Mr. Sutherland, I have been keeping tabs on you ever since the unfortunate incident on the yacht some years ago. As I recall, in our last conversation I informed you of my impression of your impending demise should you not dramatically alter your ways post haste."

"Right. I remember your advice all too well, Inspector," he replied with a slightly self-effacing smirk.

"Well, sir, it appears that you have taken that advice to heed, and exceptionally well, if I do say so myself. I am forced to reconsider my former opinion, quite happily, I might add, to the point that I feel the time has come to disclose a piece of information for your disposal."

Completely befuddled by the discussion thus far, Trevor replied, "And what might that be?"

"Mr. Sutherland, I am aware that Miss Rebecca Carey is alive and well at this moment."

"What makes you say that, Inspector?" Trevor responded doubtfully.

"Sir, she is under my supervision within the U.S. Federal witness protection program."

"I see...that explains quite a lot," Trevor responded. "How long has she been in the program, Inspector?"

"Since two days after you went looking for her in Baltimore, Mr. Sutherland."

"Good God, man! Surely that implies that she was afraid of me, and that is the reason that she came to you!"

"That is more or less correct, Mr. Sutherland."

"I see. So that would mean that she's been in protection for the past five years?"

"Give or take, yes."

"I see. And is she doing well?"

"Under the circumstances, yes, she is."

"What does that mean?" Trevor queried suspiciously.

"It means exactly what I said."

"Right, let me put it this way - to what circumstances are you referring, Inspector?"

"The circumstances that she is not very happy, Mr. Sutherland."

"Why is that?"

"Because she still finds it necessary to live her life incognito."

"I see. That certainly stands to reason. As you may recall, I was witness to what happened to her that night. I wasn't even a participant, and I'm not sure I'm over it either, Inspector. Then there is the unfortunate fact that she's still unable to live her life unfettered."

"Well said, Mr. Sutherland, well said indeed. And that is where you come in."

"Oh, and where might that be?"

"I believe that you can help."

"Help? Me? You mean – help Miss Carey?"

"Yes, Mr. Sutherland. That is precisely what I mean."

"I say, I doubt that there is anything I can do to help her, but if there is indeed anything at all that I might do to improve her circumstances, I am at your service, Inspector. I should in fact consider it a great honor."

"I expected nothing less from you. Now, here is what I want you to do, Mr. Sutherland. Please think on what I have said today. Now that you know that she is alive, if you care for her the way that I think you do, you will rekindle your obsession with her. And if my guess is correct, you will find yourself unable to carry on with your life without taking proactive measures on Rebecca's part. You see, we do not have sufficient evidence to indict Hernando Chavez. If you are as bound up in Rebecca's well-being as I think you are, you will relive the horror of that night, and perhaps, just perhaps, you will recall the single piece of evidence that is sufficient to indict that disgusting vermin."

"I say, this is all quite far-fetched. But I must say, I will indeed think about your suggestion, Inspector."

"There is another reason that I am telling you this, Mr. Sutherland."

"What is that?"

"Hernando Chavez has risen far within the Venezuelan government. There are rumors that before long he will be considered for the position of President of Venezuela. That being the case, Rebecca could well be in renewed danger, perhaps even _mortal_ danger. Thus, unless and until Chavez is neutralized, she cannot ever emerge from hiding."

"Yes, I see your point," Trevor responded in grim realization, "Well, that is certainly sufficient impetus. I shall henceforth endeavor to do what I can, I assure you."

"Find out what you can, and when you do, drop me a line, Mr. Sutherland."

"Yes, sir. I shall do that."

"Oh, and one other thing."

"Yes, sir?"

"Have you heard from your friend, Miguel Guerrero lately?"

"What? Miguel? Why no, I've not heard from him since I left UVa in what, 1968?"

"So you've no idea where he is now?"

"No, sir, none whatsoever. However, he was closer to Bryan. I could ask him if you want me to."

At this Inspector Rush arched one eyebrow and responded, "No, that will not be necessary. In fact, I would appreciate it if we could keep this between the two of us."

"Certainly, but what is this about?"

"Oh, nothing to concern yourself with, Mr. Sutherland. Now, I must be on my way. I wish you good day," and so saying Inspector Rush rose and made his departure.

Wharton Manor – December, 1975

**Trevor gazed from the** window as the Rolls Royce passed through the gates to the manor, the winter wind whipping across the fields in the grey light of afternoon. As he rounded the curve of the lengthy driveway Wharton Manor came into view, propelling a veritable flood of memories to the forefront of his consciousness. "God, I love this place," he murmured, realizing to his own surprise that he had said it aloud. Subsequently turning to Bryan, he exclaimed, "No matter where I go in the world, I always feel that I'm coming home when I round that curve."

"What a gorgeous place, Trevor," Bryan replied. "You grew up here? Wow!"

Regaining his parents' good graces had been a long grind, but the previous winter they had invited him home for Christmas, and now it had become a family custom once again, as it had been in his youth. Trevor winced at the thought of that day long ago, when in Inspector Rush's office he had realized he had lost his mother's good opinion of him. A look of desperation coming over him, he said to himself, "God grant that I should never suffer that again."

"Suffer what?" Bryan asked.

"Oh, nothing. I was just thinking aloud."

Moments later they pulled up in front of the manor and, the pair descending from the car, Bryan walked up the steps to all appearances as if he had not lost both legs in Vietnam. Reaching the top step, the pair continued forward and, Trevor leading the way into the house, he exclaimed joyously, "Smithers! Great to see you! Happy Christmas!" at which he accorded the elderly butler a massive embrace.

"And the same to you, sir," Smithers croaked in palpable embarrassment.

"This is my best friend, Bryan," Trevor said to Smithers. Turning to Bryan, he announced, "Bryan, this is Smithers. I've known him for as long as I've been alive on this earth, and he's known me even longer than that!"

The pair shook hands and, turning to Trevor, Smithers exclaimed with evident formality, "I expect I should announce your arrival to Lady Sutherland."

"Oh, balderdash, Smithers," Trevor responded jovially, "I shall announce myself. Where is she, in the sitting room?"

"Yes, of course, sir."

"Come on, Bry. Follow me!" Trevor exclaimed with obvious enthusiasm.

The pair wandered off and within moments, they were installed within the sitting room, sharing a glass of port with Lady Sutherland and happily discussing matters of no importance whatsoever.

Presently, Bryan excused himself, saying, "I believe that I shall go find Smithers and give my legs a rest."

"I shall help you," Trevor replied.

"Oh, no you won't," Bryan replied reprovingly, "You know our pact."

"Right," Trevor responded, thereby retrieving the comfort of his seat as Bryan left the room.

Lady Sutherland leaned forward and, patting Trevor on the hand, she whispered, "My dear, I am so proud of you!"

"I say, why ever for?"

"Oh, don't be a muddle-head. Just look at that young man. You practically sired him. He's both alive and whole again all because of your tireless ministrations."

"Oh, fiddle sticks," he replied in embarrassment. After twenty-eight years, still having no idea how to respond to a compliment from his own mother, he wondered if the day would ever come when he would feel up to her standards.

A momentary lull in the conversation thenceforth allowed Lady Sutherland to emit, "Ahemmm," to which Trevor immediately grew alert. For all his years this sound had always meant that something important was coming, thus cueing him to await her next announcement expectantly.

"Trevor," she commenced hesitantly, "This will be difficult for me to tell you, but I feel that it is quite essential for me to do so. I have never told you the details as to how your father and I met. Well, the time has come for me to divulge the embarrassing truth, I am afraid. As you already know, we met at a weekend party in the summer of 1940, right here at Wharton Manor. What you do not know is that the party was arranged by your father's mother, Lady Margaret Sutherland. She was an extraordinarily clever woman, and for personal reasons she had a strong notion that the boys who were going off to war that summer should be enlightened as to the mysteries of the female anatomy. She thus recruited six young ladies from Oxford to attend a party for forty members of the 93rd Squadron, half of whom subsequently died in the war. My dear, I was one of those six young ladies."

"So? What happened, mother?"

"I shall skip the details, but let me just say that I found your father on first acquaintance to be an arrogant prig. And as a result of events that occurred on that evening, your father and I remained at cross-purposes for years to come."

"You mean you did not marry young?"

"No. The war intervened, you see, and as time wore on, we found it impossible to patch up our differences."

"I don't understand. Were you in love, and then you drifted apart? Is that it?"

"Yes, quite so, Trevor."

"But it must've all come right in the end, mother. Otherwise, I should not be here speaking to you now."

"Precisely!" she responded pointedly.

Eyeing her doubtfully, he shook his head in confusion and said, "I'm afraid I don't understand your point."

"I am telling you this now not because I am seeking your acceptance of the follies of my youth, but because I want you to understand that your father and I once endured traumatic events, events that we were somehow able to overcome."

"Is that why you have told me this story? Is it because it was so hard for you?"

"No, my dear, it is not the only reason. I must tell you that the most difficult thing that I ever did in my life was to convince your father that I was deserving of his affection. But more important even than that, it was absolutely essential that he persisted, that he gave me the opportunity to prove myself worthy of him. And this he did ever so admirably."

"So what you're saying is, you didn't appear to be worthy of him, but because he gave you a chance, you ended up ultimately catching him?"

"That is entirely correct, my dear."

"But what precisely does that have to do with me? I'm certain I have no idea how the two relate to one another."

"My dear, I am speaking of you and Miss Rebecca Carey."

"What!" he exclaimed in consternation, "How on earth does she come into this?"

"My dear, all I am suggesting is that you keep an open mind. People are wonderfully complicated, and what appears on the surface is not always what one finds when one digs to the heart of the matter."

"What are you suggesting, mother?"

"I am suggesting that you and Miss Carey would both do well to dig a bit deeper to the heart of this matter."

"I say, I haven't even the slightest idea where she is at this moment, mother. I've been informed by Inspector Rush that she is alive, but I haven't seen her in nearly seven years! What could this possibly have to do with me?"

"I'm not sure, Trevor, but I do believe that I have an idea."

"Like what, mother?"

"My dear, have you somehow forgotten the circumstances surrounding the last time the two of you met? There are unresolved issues between the two of you, and I for one believe that she has formed some sort of perverse attachment to you."

"That's ridiculous. I was a complete jerk. I can hardly stand to even think of the person that I was seven years ago. Every time I think of that young man, I want to throw up. She couldn't possibly have formed an attachment to the person I was back then."

"One does not have the luxury of choosing whom one cares for, my dear. If we humans did, the world wouldn't be the wonderfully wacky place that it is. And besides, I am not speaking of then. I am speaking of now."

"What do you mean _now_ , Mother?"

"My dear, I've seen Miss Carey quite recently."

"What! How is that possible. She's in hiding!"

"Just so, Trevor, but I have nonetheless visited with her, and I can tell you that she is most assuredly a quite unhappy young lady."

A perplexed look still creasing his features, he mumbled, "This is all too much, mother!"

Summoning her sternest visage, she begged, "Trevor, I am asking you. No, I am pleading with you as your mother \- please consent to see Miss Carey again."

Scanning her face for any sign of what game she was playing at, her demeanor too well disguised for him to discern aught whatsoever, he responded, "I see. What exactly do you have in mind?"

"My dear, I was fortunate enough to have a 'fairy god mother' of sorts, one who shepherded me through the mine field of my own making when I stumbled in my youth. That fairy god mother was your grandmother, Lady Margaret Sutherland. She was a woman of infinite wisdom and concern. She stripped away the hidden meaning to every event, carefully dissecting and working her way to the heart of the matter. It was she who brought me together with my husband, and in so doing, she ultimately deserves the greatest honor for the birth of my son, meaning you. I hope that I need not tell you that I feel a great sense of responsibility to Lady Margaret, despite her passing. I assure you that I have your best interest at heart." Thenceforth rising from her chair, she came forward to him and, capturing his gaze with hers, she subsequently exclaimed, " _I command you, my son - you must see Miss Carey again!_ "

At this Trevor rejoined irritably, "Would that I could, mother. But it is all in vain, for she will not have it."

"Oh, but she most assuredly will, Trevor."

"Why?"

"Because, as I explained to you, she and I have suffered similar problems."

"Trevor," she now continued, "you may not believe this, but I have done my homework. Had I thought that you were the same person that I struck seven years ago, I would not be suggesting this to you now. In the intervening time, you have changed. You have somehow transformed from a most despicable character into a quite admirable young man. That being the case, there is no way that you can turn me down."

"Why ever for? What makes you say that?"

"Because you _OWE_ her, and if you are indeed the person that you appear to have become, you will know that I am offering you the best chance - perhaps the only chance - that you shall ever have in your life to right the wrong that you have done to her."

Peering at her for a moment, he responded in apparent resignation, "You have perfectly cornered me, mother. Well done. I can say nothing other than 'checkmate'!" Staring at her in despondent admiration, he added, "Right, your wish is my command. When and where shall I meet her?"

Clapping her hands together in glee, she exclaimed excitedly, "Oh, my dear, I am so proud of you! There is yet hope for you, I believe."

"I do hope that you are correct. I shall look forward to it, mother."

"Not so fast, Trevor. Let me be clear about this. I am not doing this for your pleasure or your entertainment. I am doing this strictly for the benefit of Miss Carey. What you endure is of little consequence to me. You may indeed despise me by the time this episode has reached its conclusion, but so long as it has been resolved in a way that improves Miss Carey's welfare, I shall consider it a success. You, on the other hand, may come away much the worse from an encounter with her."

"Fair enough, mother."

"Excellent! Now, I want you and Bryan to make yourselves at home. I must travel to London this afternoon on business, but I shall be back before morning. We shall talk more then, and we shall have a glorious Christmas together."

The Following Morning

**Lady Sutherland sat in her** **favorite chair** gazing out the window. It seemed like only yesterday that she had participated in a masquerade party at Wharton Manor. Could it now actually be thirty-five years since? She marveled at the memory, still vivid after all these years.

At that very moment Rebecca entered the room and volunteered to Lady Sutherland, "You have such a lovely manor, Lady Sutherland. I thank you for your gracious invitation. I hope that your plan works. Now, what is the next step?"

"Miss Carey, I would like to tell you a story. Tis the story of a young woman, a woman who was just about the age of twenty when war broke out in 1940 in Europe. The young lady in question attended a party at a manor in the west of England, and during the party she behaved rather stupidly, getting herself into a jam. I don't mind telling you that this event was traumatic for the young lady, so much so that it became a quite seminal event in her life. You see, the object of her affection was at that party, and her behavior at that party caused him to reject her attentions out of hand. The war inevitably intervened, whereupon the young lady took on the role of a trollop. But fortuitously for the young lady, the opportunity eventually arose to redeem herself. And even more fortunate, she was ultimately reunited with the man that she cherished, the two being happily married after the culmination of the war."

"Interesting story," Rebecca interjected, assuming that the story was now at an end.

"Patience, Rebecca. I am not quite through. In due course a son was born to the couple, a son named Trevor." Here she paused, eying Rebecca intensely, and queried pointedly, "Are you following me?"

At this revelation Rebecca immediately lurched forward in her seat and, realization sinking in, she responded, "Uh, wait a minute...uhm, oh, my goodness, yes...I believe I do indeed follow you, Lady Sutherland. It seems you once played the role of a trollop."

"That is quite correct," she responded candidly.

"Point well taken, but I'm sorry, I just don't understand where this is all leading to," she replied.

"Miss Carey, did you not hear the story that I just told you? Do you not understand that I have a great deal of experience in a quite similar situation to what you have suffered through?"

"Yes, yes, I see your point now, Lady Sutherland. But I submit to you that you cannot possibly know the humiliation of being raped."

"But indeed I can, because I too was raped, on more occasions than you could ever imagine," Lady Sutherland responded serenely, knowing full well that she had successfully maneuvered the game to checkmate.

Focusing on Lady Sutherland with newfound empathy and respect, Rebecca responded, "Oh, my...this is too incredible. Lady Sutherland, I must apologize profusely. I had no idea."

"Apology accepted, Rebecca. May we now conclude that we are in fact birds of a feather?"

"So it seems, my lady, so it seems."

"Then I assume that you also understand that it will be in your best interest, as it was long ago in mine, to follow the sage advice of this tough old bird."

An Hour Later

**Trevor strode into** **the sitting room** , approached his mother and, leaning forward to embrace her, he inquired idly, "How was your trip to London yesterday afternoon, mother?"

"It was taxing my dear, and since you ask, a bit tiring as well." She paused a moment, then added mysteriously, "But it was necessary. How have things been here at the manor?"

"Perfect. Bryan and I are being treated to a much-needed rest and relaxation."

"That is excellent. Now Trevor, I am quite afraid that your rest and relaxation is about to suffer a serious setback," his mother began, "I have a surprise for you."

"I say, a surprise? What sort of surprise?"

"We have a visitor, and it is none other than Miss Rebecca Carey."

At this Trevor lunged from his chair and, his eyes bulging, he exclaimed, "I say! You can't be serious, mother!"

"My dear, I can, and in fact I am."

"But mother, surely you must agree that it is inappropriate to entertain one such as she within the Manor!"

"Oh, balderdash, my son! What Miss Carey is or ever was is of no consequence. What is important is that the opportunity has finally arrived for you to make amends."

"I...I know that I promised...but I'm not sure I'm ready..." he stammered.

"Well, best gird yourself, Trevor, for in truth, she is at this moment standing directly behind you."

At this revelation Trevor swung round, thereby observing Rebecca standing across the room from him. Rooted to the floor beneath him, Trevor was shocked into absolute silence. Staring at her in disbelief, seven years fell away in the space of a single moment, the memories rushing back in a torrent of emotions.

Glaring vehemently at him, Rebecca allowed sufficient time for the horror of his past transgressions to flood over him. Observing that her unexpected presence had struck its intended mark, she subsequently marched across the room and, arriving directly before him, she slapped him as hard as she possibly could. Having anticipated just such a blow, he neither backed away nor attempted to parry it, but the power of her delivery nonetheless staggered him markedly. Justly punished, he remained absolutely motionless, awaiting her further satisfaction, whatever it might be.

For her part, Rebecca simply stood there shaking her stinging hand, but despite this, it was apparent from her look of profound satisfaction that she had gained substantial enjoyment from the doing of it.

"God, you have no idea how long I've been waiting to do that!" she exclaimed and, glaring viciously at him, she added forcefully, "My God, that felt good, you jerk!"

For his part, he remained motionless, silently raising one hand to rub his by now scarlet face.

"Bravo, Miss Carey," Lady Sutherland now interjected implacably, adding, "Seven years ago I afforded him exactly the same punishment."

"You did?" Rebecca blurted in wide-eyed astonishment. "So, I'm in heady company!" and at this she actually giggled. Turning back toward him, she spoke over her shoulder, "That was ever so satisfying. Please, may I hit him again?"

"Of course, my dear," Lady Sutherland responded, "He is yours for the bidding. Feel quite free to give him another wallop, but please spread it around. Try the other cheek!"

At this, Rebecca reared back and struck him yet again, this time even harder, exclaiming, "How do you like that, jerk!"

Trevor staggered backwards but, recovering his footing, he now spoke to her for the first time in more than seven years, offering despondently, "Two blows can never make up for what I did to you, Rebecca, er...Miss Carey. But if it will in any way make you feel better, I am at your service for whatever punishment you may choose to mete out."

"What the..." Rebecca replied and, turning back to Lady Sutherland, she inquired, "What have you done to him? Is he drugged? The last time I saw this jerk, he was thoroughly incapable of such niceties."

As she was known to do when she was deliriously happy, Lady Sutherland replied in her native French, " _Exactement!_ My dear, I believe that the person that you see before you is not the same young scoundrel you once knew. And that is why I imparted my story to you. Now I suggest that you spend some time with my son and get to know him. I believe that you shall find him to be a very interesting and compelling young man."

"Lady Sutherland, please, I'm not ready for that."

"Oh, for goodness sake, Rebecca. It has been seven years! If you're not ready now, then when shall you be? You must exorcise your demons. Now, I command you to get on with it!"

At this command Rebecca flashed her eyes at Lady Sutherland antagonistically, exclaiming, "You got it!" But it was obvious that she was livid with the both of them. Accordingly, she turned back to Trevor, announcing, "Your mother has just been telling me about how she and your father had some differences of opinion right here within this very house. What do you say, Trevor, old boy? Shall we fight it out, too?"

At this Lady Sutherland grasped her throat in the abject fear that things had suddenly gone all wrong.

Trevor peered implacably at Rebecca and replied, "Excellent notion, Miss Carey. Unfortunately, my fighting days are over."

"What the...did the army make you a coward? You won't fight me?"

" _Cannot_ fight you, I'm afraid."

"Why ever not, you coward!"

"Actually, tis an old war injury, I'm afraid," he responded matter-of-factly.

"What sort of war injury?"

"I was wounded in Vietnam, in the shoulder. I have limited mobility with it, so I am obliged to avoid fighting of any sort, I'm afraid."

"Oh, I'm sorry to hear that," she replied in apparent embarrassment.

"No offense taken," he responded politely. "I suppose that a game of chess would suffice as an acceptable substitute, if you wish."

"Ha!" she replied inanely. "Good one. Thanks for extracting me from my own gaff, but I'm afraid I've suddenly lost my taste for games. How about a good stiff drink instead?" But it was obvious she was still absolutely furious.

Glancing doubtfully toward his mother, he responded, "Under the circumstances, I believe that a beverage would do nicely." Lady Sutherland in turn obliged him with a concealed wink of approval for his masterful handling of an otherwise untenable situation.

"What might I get you?"

"A double scotch – straight - if you don't mind," she snarled.

"Just like Trevor, his father, and his father before him," Lady Sutherland interjected perceptively.

Ignoring this last, Trevor prepared her a drink, subsequently pouring a glass of port for both his mother and himself.

"So what happened to your arm?" Rebecca queried as he handed her the glass.

"I was shot," he answered laconically.

Now calming visibly, she replied, "I'm sorry to hear that."

"Don't be. I'm just fine now."

"What does that mean?" she responded suspiciously.

"Look, in order to answer that question, I suppose I shall need to fill you in a bit. Would that be acceptable to you?"

"Sure," she replied, nevertheless continuing to eye him suspiciously.

"There is a warm fire in the library. How does that sound to you?" he asked politely.

"Okay," she answered suspiciously, the pair thenceforth departing the room.

For her part, Lady Sutherland was left to question the rightfulness of her ploy.

The Following Morning

**The day having dawned dark and gloomy, Trevor** and Bryan met Lord and Lady Sutherland in the dining room for breakfast. Rebecca, who was not in attendance, eventually arrived as they were finishing up and, stepping into the room, she announced brusquely, "I must apologize, I've decided that I must go home. Goodbye, Lord and Lady Sutherland. Goodbye Bryan. Goodbye, jerk!" And before anyone had the presence of mind to react, she turned on her heel and hastily departed the room, thereby preempting any effort to persuade her otherwise.

Apparently unsurprised, Trevor croaked, "Goodbye, Miss Carey," but by then Rebecca had already disappeared.

"Well! That is certainly shocking!" Lady Sutherland exclaimed.

From behind his copy of _The London Times_ , Lord Sutherland opined offhandedly, "One could never accuse Miss Carey of failing to be headstrong, my dear. Reminds me of someone else many years ago."

"Perhaps she will come back," Trevor suggested doubtfully.

At this Lady Sutherland interjected, "Trevor my dear, she is leaving for the purpose of escaping you! Trust me on that point. And trust me on this one as well – she is most assuredly NOT coming back!"

"I see," he replied, "Well, I could hardly have expected more under the circumstances."

"What exactly are you referring to?" his mother inquired.

"Actually, I thought that we shared a very constructive conversation yesterday in the library."

"What did you talk about?"

"Oh, we talked about what we've both been doing since that night. I told her about my enlistment in the service and my subsequent deployment to Vietnam. We talked about my injury, and my recovery, and how I started my company and built it into a worldwide organization. We also talked about what she's been doing since then. Anyway, I feel like I did some good, mother. I feel as though she may be able to move on a bit now. At least, I hope so. All in all, I'd say your suggestion that we meet did in fact do some good."

Three Days Later

**Trevor decided to remain for a few days** at his flat in London, dropping Bryan at Heathrow for his return flight to Washington along the way. He was relaxing with a drink when he received a phone call. Picking up the receiver, he announced, "Hello?"

"Trevor, this is Rebecca Carey," the voice on the other end said officiously, "I hope that I'm not bothering you."

Unable to hide his astonishment, he exclaimed, "No, not at all! What can I do for you, Miss Carey?"

"I was wondering if you wouldn't mind having dinner with me this evening. I'm not far from where you are. I'm sorry for such late notice, but I would consider it a great favor if you could make it."

"I am at your service," he responded, "Where shall I meet you, and at what time?"

"Excellent. Meet me at the Crossbow Tavern at eight P.M."

"Right, I shall see you there, Miss Carey."

Entering the tavern two hours later, Trevor noticed that it was hopping with holiday activity, the locals obviously having an excellent time of it. The pub was quite large, with several rooms of various shapes and sizes, all strung out and connected in haphazard fashion. Finding her sitting alone in one of the smallest rooms, he offered hesitantly, "Hello."

For her part, she responded inscrutably, "Hello, Trevor. I hope you don't mind. I wanted to see you away from the tentacled grasp of your parents. I felt that we didn't quite finish our reunion of sorts at Wharton Manor."

"I say, I don't mind at all. I came tonight to answer any further questions that you might have as best I am able."

"Thank you. Would you like a pint of ale?"

"Yes, of course. That would be refreshing," he responded.

"How about some fish and chips?"

"That sounds perfect."

"Okay. You just relax here and I'll be back in a jiffy," she said blandly.

Still uncertain as to the purpose of this unexpected rendezvous, he responded affably, "Right."

She was back within minutes and, thrusting a pint toward him, she said curtly, "The food will be ready shortly."

"Thanks. What did you want to discuss with me?"

"Well, I hope you don't mind, but I would like to discuss the events that led up to my disappearance. I've been wondering for a very long time what happened to you that night aboard the yacht. Where did you disappear to, Trevor?"

"I didn't disappear. I was observing from on deck. The first I realized that something terrible was underway was when Chavez grabbed you as you left the stage. But by that point, there was nothing I could do to stop him."

"You saw Chavez rape me?"

"Yes, I'm afraid I did. I say, there is no point in denying it – I observed all of it, every horrifying moment."

"Then why didn't you do something?"

"Like what?"

"But you promised to protect me!"

"I say, I was outnumbered fifty to one! Considering the alternatives, I assumed that the best course of action was to try and get through it so that I could be a witness on your behalf thereafter."

"But there was no thereafter, Trevor."

"Well, there might have been had you not gone overboard."

"That's ridiculous. By diving overboard I undoubtedly saved my life, and perhaps yours as well."

"Yes, you're quite likely correct, and, believe me, I am extremely grateful to you for that. I saw you go overboard, by the way."

"You did? Why didn't you do something then?"

"What alternative was there? One of Chavez' men told him right away, and the captain immediately radioed the Coast Guard."

"So why was there no rape charge?"

"I don't know, Miss Carey. There were fifty men aboard, all of whom said nothing happened."

"And what did you say, Trevor? Why didn't you tell the truth?"

"I was terrified. Inspector Rush was threatening to bring me up on charges of pimping and God knows what else. Listen, I'm not proud of what I did that night, or before that night for that matter. I can only say that I am so sorry for what I did to you, and that I realize that I can never make it up to you."

"Not good enough by a long shot, jerk."

"I did eventually agree to testify that I saw you raped, but my testimony was of little use without you around."

"Listen, you slime ball, you may have the entire world convinced, including your own parents, that you have reformed, but you don't fool me," she responded vehemently.

"I'm sorry you feel that way, but please believe me - I wish that there was something I could do to help," he replied despondently.

"You jerk. You're still a patent liar! Chavez somehow knew that I was a virgin that night, and there was only one other person in the world who knew that I was a virgin. You knew, and the only way that he could have known was if you knew that he was looking for a virgin to hump that night. You miserable piece of shit, you knew what was going to happen that night, otherwise how could Chavez have known I was a virgin. Admit it, jerk!"

"I don't understand. I'm confused," he responded, seemingly avoiding her question. "Actually, I have a splitting headache and I'm feeling a bit dizzy."

"That's most likely the drugs taking effect," she responded matter-of-factly.

"What?" he mumbled distantly.

"You heard me," she answered, and at that moment three women converged within the tiny room, immediately wedging themselves on either side of him. "These are my friends. Meet Sylvia and Betsy. I believe that you already know Mimi from Baltimore. Say hello to Trevor the jerk, ladies."

"I say..." Trevor mumbled, his voice by now distinctly woozy.

As he was slipping into unconsciousness, he heard Rebecca say, "Once upon a time, I was young and naïve, but a thoroughly unscrupulous guy took my youth away from me, and now, I'm the one with the upper hand. Remember when you had the upper hand? Well, now the tables are turned, you jerk! Alright, girls, let's get Trevor on his feet while he's still conscious." The four women subsequently dragged Trevor to his feet and, hoisting him through the crowd within, they hustled him away.

The Following Morning

**Trevor awoke with a splitting headache.** On regaining his senses, he woozily observed that, but for a coat of lime green paint, he was totally naked. Noticing that one of his feet was lying in a body of water, he lurched forward and sat up, gazing about in dismay. Realizing that he was most likely resting next to the Thames River, he crawled up onto the quay, where a mystified passerby flagged down a policeman who bundled Trevor within his jacket and transported him to the local police station.

Trevor remembered what had happened well enough to understand that Rebecca had succeeded in exacting revenge upon him. Since he saw no point in dredging it all up, he simply told the police that he had gotten drunk in a pub, so much so that he had been taken advantage of by thieves. Seeing as how he had been robbed and painted green, the police let him off without placing charges of indecency and public lewdness.

Accepting their offer of a lift to his flat, he showered and dressed immediately on arrival. The green paint was thankfully not permanent, but it did leave an obnoxious tinge that would undoubtedly require a few days to completely disappear. Upon checking his mailbox, he found a large unstamped envelope with his name on it. Opening the envelope, he found a sheet of paper inside that read as follows:

Dear Jerk-

You may recall that a few years back you took advantage of a young and naïve coed at UVa. Because of your actions, she has found it necessary to remain in hiding ever since, thereby leaving an indelible mark on her.

Last night you were questioned about events of that night on the yacht, and you once again fed her with lies regarding the events of that night. She is positive that you planned the entire event, yet you steadfastly claim otherwise. She is also certain that you knew that Mr. Chavez intended to have sex with her. Thus, it is clear that you were indeed directly involved in what happened to her that night, but you nonetheless choose to deny it.

Then there is the case of the so-called 'scorecard' discovered by the police in your room at UVa. Inspector Rush has disclosed that the evidence was clear that she was to be your next victim in a long line of seductions. Your final intended victim has therefore chosen this occasion to exact revenge.

So here is her final vengeance. Check the photo within this envelope. If you ever come near her again, copies of this photo will make their way to members of the press, together with a full account of your disgusting actions.

Your Worst Enemy-

Rebecca Carey

Reaching inside the envelope, he pulled out the photograph. The photo showed him totally naked and painted lime green, with a masked woman performing a sadistic activity on his naked body. His face reddening with embarrassment, he realized that he had finally received payback for his past misdeeds.
Chapter 10

Life Goes On

Washington – March, 1976

**Gazing from the twelfth-floor window of the fancy boardroom, Trevor** seemed to be lost in contemplation.

Noticing his sense of detachment on entering the room, Sarah volunteered, "Penny for your thoughts."

Lurching from his interrupted reverie, he responded, "What?" and, realizing he had been caught daydreaming, he hedged, "Right. I was just thinking about something."

"I can see that," she replied. "You've been doing a lot of that lately, Trevor. Snap out of it! Focus! This is a big deal - we need this contract."

"Right, focus," he responded, flashing his best business smile at her.

"What were you thinking about anyway, boss?"

"Oh, nothing...it was all quite a long time ago..."

"Tell me about it!" she offered, "I was probably there."

At this remark he blushed and, tugging officiously on his sport coat, he replied sheepishly, "You're right \- what matters is right now, this very moment. So how much did you say this guy's company is worth?"

"Not real big, about a hundred mil."

"Right. And you think this merger is the right one for us to have access to all the latest electronics for our robotic prosthetics?"

"Right, boss. We've been over all of this before."

"I know, I know. I'm just not cut out for the business side. Surely you know that, Sarah."

"Well, Trevor, don't you think it's time you hired someone who is?"

"Right, right, I know, I know..."

At that moment three businessmen in fancy suits entered the sleek boardroom. Trevor and Sarah rose, and the introductions were made, accompanied by handshakes all around.

Suddenly, a well-dressed woman rushed into the room, exclaiming breathlessly, "Sorry I'm late. I was in another meeting with the stockholder's committee. You know how it is," and at this she turned to shake Trevor's hand.

"Hello Trevor," she offered pleasantly.

"Vanessa!" he exclaimed and, taking her proffered hand, he said, "I didn't know you worked for Feldman Industries!"

Grinning salaciously at him, she responded, "A girl has got to make a living!" and, turning to Sarah, she added, "Hello, Sarah."

Taking Vanessa's outstretched hand, Sarah responded in apparent surprise, "Hi, Vanessa. Long time no see."

"You three are acquainted with one another?" Mr. Feldman queried.

"Yes," Vanessa replied with a slight smile, "From our days at UVa."

"Ah, UVa...I see..." Feldman replied, his voice trailing off.

There was a moment of pregnant silence during which Trevor seemed to regain his lost composure. Eventually, he announced self-assuredly, "So, down to business. Mr. Feldman, thanks for taking time to meet with us today. We all know why we're here. Sarah and I simply wanted to start the ball rolling, sort of get to know one another."

"Of course, Mr. Sutherland," Feldman responded candidly, "We are at your service. It is our collective view that this merger is a potential win-win. Both companies would profit enormously. Accordingly, shall we discuss terms?"

At this, Vanessa boldly interjected, "I've been running some numbers. If you don't mind, I have a short presentation detailing the current financial position of Feldman Industries."

"Sure, that would be fine," Trevor agreed, "Although Sarah is the business mind for Lifelike Prosthetics. I'm just a mechanical engineer."

At this self-effacing remark, Vanessa interjected impatiently, "As well as the CEO of a two-hundred-million-dollar company. There is no point in making light of your accomplishments, Trevor. We have the facts at our disposition."

"Wait," Trevor exclaimed and, suddenly rising halfway out of his chair, he admonished, "Isn't this some sort of conflict of interest?"

"I'm not sure I follow you," Mr. Feldman put in.

Turning toward Feldman, Trevor responded, "I see Miss Markham hasn't seen fit to fill you in. To put it mildly, Vanessa and I are more than just _acquaintances_."

At this outburst, Vanessa smirked and, leaning back within her chair, she responded confidently, "I was afraid you'd forgotten, big boy!"

"Forgotten! Not a chance, Vanessa! Although you have changed, much for the better, I might add," he said, mumbling this last under his breath.

"Well, well," she replied with a sneer, "That is a left-handed compliment if I ever heard one!"

Trevor gazed at her and, realizing his gaff, he rejoined, "I apologize, Vanessa. It was intended as a compliment."

At this retort she smiled vivaciously and submitted, "My, that's much better, Trevor. Under the circumstances, apology accepted. After all, we did share a glorious Halloween evening once upon a time, didn't we!" and at this last offbeat remark, she crossed her arms and arched one eyebrow in self-assurance.

For his part, Trevor blanched noticeably, responding, "My, my, that does take me back..."

Sarah, who was by now completely exasperated with the direction the negotiations had taken, interrupted with, "Okay, you two. I can see that you need to do some 'catching up' with one another. In the meantime, can we get on with the meeting?"

Exhaling a snort, Trevor blubbered, "Oh, sorry," followed by, "Right. Down to business, if we absolutely must."

The remainder of the meeting was strictly business, a dizzying array of financial figures aimed at bringing the two disparate groups together. Trevor, who was focused on the gorgeous blonde woman across the table from him, lost his train of thought quite early on, his mind instead drifting to a night long ago. The meeting now drawing to a close, the participants rose from their seats and shook hands amiably.

Suddenly regaining his composure, Trevor offered pleasantly, "We seem to be on the right track, ladies and gentlemen. Suppose we all meet next week, perhaps this time on our turf?" Seeing the nods of agreement, he offered, "I shall get my assistant to set it up," and at this the group began to disperse, small pockets of conversation forming as they slowly exited the conference room.

Trevor took the opportunity to catch up with Vanessa before his departure, offering, "Vanessa, please accept my apologies yet again. I've been distracted of late. And besides, you _have_ changed!"

Accepting his outstretched hand, she responded noncommittally, "It was a long time ago, as you so correctly pointed out to me."

"Listen," he implored, "I've been thinking. Please, have lunch with me. We could talk over old times together."

Brightening somewhat at his offer, she responded doubtfully, "Well, I don't know..."

"Oh, please! Just for old time's sake. Please, Vanessa. It might do us both some good."

She countered, "Well, I'm awfully busy...Oh, what the heck. Alright, let me check my calendar and get back to you."

Obviously uncertain as to her true intention, he pleaded, "Please, don't brush me off, Vanessa. I'm serious about this."

"You will hear from me by the end of today, Trevor. I promise."

"Excellent! I shall look forward to it," and with that the pair shook hands yet again and she departed the boardroom.

As Trevor rejoined Sarah, she inquired suspiciously, "What was that about?"

"Come on, let's get out of here," he responded secretively, at which he grasped her elbow and tugged her down the hallway toward the elevator.

Having arrived at the waiting car in the parking lot, he finally opened up, blubbering, "Man, it was hot in there! I couldn't get comfortable."

"You're telling me. I thought the two of you were going to spontaneously ignite! There was so much heat in that room, the level of concentration was nil."

"What! Was I that obvious?" he queried with surprise.

"Ohhh yeah!"

"I say, I quite apologize, Sarah."

"That's alright. Frankly, I haven't seen you show such interest in a member of the fairer sex in quite a long time. Maybe you've been too busy running a company for the last five years. If you ask me, this may well be a good thing for you."

"What thing?"

"Oh, come now, Trevor! There is no point in denying the obvious!"

"No, Sarah, I assure you, it's nothing like that. I simply thought it would be nice to have lunch with her. You know, good business, a form of apology, to get the ball rolling."

" _To get the ball rolling!_ Ha!" she exclaimed, subsequently flapping a hand at him in dismissal.

Glancing sheepishly at her, he said nothing. She thus seized the initiative, querying, "What gives, Trevor? What is there between the two of you?"

"I'm quite certain I've no idea what you mean, Sarah."

"Don't you dare hedge with me, Trevor! We've known each other far too long for that. I probably know you better than anyone on this planet. Damn, I probably know you better than you know yourself. You can bullshit all you want, but you can't fool me!"

"Right. Well, then perhaps I'm fooling myself, Sarah."

"That's better. Now tell me what gives, before I knock the crap out of you!"

"Right, well...this takes me back..." he said in apparent contemplation, but then he suddenly found the right words, murmuring, "It was that night, at the Halloween party. I say, I made quite an ass of myself that night."

"You're telling me! I was there, remember?"

"Of course. Who could forget? Anyway, that woman seriously irritated me!"

"Meaning Rebecca, I presume," she responded knowingly.

"Of course...you have it right," he replied forlornly. "My, I just realized - I must have been quite obsessed with her back then."

" _Must have been_!" she repeated in exasperation.

"What?" he responded in blank confusion.

"Oh, nothing."

He glanced at her, still confused, but continued with, "Anyway, I was quite upset with Rebecca. Okay, bear with me here. Perhaps I wasn't such a nice chap back then, you know," at which she simply nodded her agreement. "That night, I was quite desperate to get back at Rebecca after her highly inappropriate display."

At this Sarah interrupted with, "As far as I'm concerned, Rebecca did nothing inappropriate at all that night."

"That's your opinion," he responded matter-of-factly, "So I approached Vanessa, and I asked her if she wanted to go for a drive with me. And I confess I made certain that Rebecca saw us leave together."

"Well, that explains a lot," she replied.

"What do you mean, Sarah?"

"She moped around for at least a month after that night. And now at long last I know why."

"What? Why ever for?"

"Oh, come now, Trevor. Your well-planned volley hit the mark – Rebecca's heart strings."

"Yes, you are quite correct. I've thought about it at least a thousand times since. Unfortunately, there is nothing I can do to make amends."

"Tell me about it," Sarah responded, meaning exactly the opposite. Not waiting for another comment on his part, she then asked, "So what happened after that?"

"You mean that night?" And at her assenting nod, he recalled, "Oh, nothing much. Vanessa and I went for a drive, and I'm afraid things got out of hand."

"Exactly what does that mean?"

"Well, you know..."

"No, in fact, I don't know! Give over, Trevor!"

"Right, if you must know, I slept with her," and at Sarah's look of obvious disgust, he appended, "Well, I didn't actually _sleep_ with her. We had sex in the woods."

Her eyes widening knowingly, she emitted, "My, what an image that conjures up. Some sort of animalistic mating ritual in the bushes on All Hallow's Evening! Ugh, disgusting!"

"I don't know about that. Frankly, I haven't thought about it in quite some time. I've tried to put it out of my mind."

"I'll bet that wasn't easy!" Sarah remarked ludicrously.

"Actually, it was, but not for long."

"And what does that mean?"

"If you must know, she got pregnant."

"You've _got_ to be kidding!" she exclaimed, "When did she tell you?"

"Right after I enlisted in the army. We were married before I shipped out for basic training."

"You mean, the two of you were _married_!" she exclaimed in horror. "That's totally _disgusting_!" For God's sake, you didn't have to get married. Why did you do that?"

"Sarah, surely you recall the circumstances. I felt I had no choice. I had just wrecked one woman's life. I couldn't bring myself to repeat such heinous behavior a second time."

"I see," she responded doubtfully but, moving on, she inquired, "Sooo, what happened to the child?"

"Vanessa miscarried. She called me at Fort Hood, just before I shipped out to Vietnam."

"Oh, my, I'm so sorry to hear that," Sarah rejoined sympathetically. But then, a frown creasing her face, she inquired, "When were you divorced?"

"I'm really not sure, it was either the fall of 1972 or 1973."

"Well, seeing as how you're going to see her again quite soon, you might want to get your story straight, champ," she admonished.

"Yes, of course," he murmured, but his mind was already racing away to another time and place.

Washington – A Week Later

**Trevor and Vanessa met for lunch** in Crystal City. The attraction was immediate. Vanessa was gorgeous, and for his part, Trevor was conscious of Sarah's instructions.

The following day Sarah poked at him, saying, "You look way too happy, boss. In fact, I don't remember the last time I saw you look so ecstatic."

Suddenly introspective, Trevor replied, "Gee, I didn't know that it showed."

"Listen buddy boy, this entire company is tuned to your every whim. When you're sad, we're sad, and everyone knows it. With you perking up, the sky is the limit for Lifelike Prosthetics."

"Gee, when you put it that way..." he mumbled distractedly.

"Did you get any?" she queried pithily.

"What! A woman should never ask a man such questions. And, by the way, No!" he responded with feigned annoyance.

"Well, that's too bad. Don't you be wasting time. Make haste, boss, make haste. One never knows how long the planting season will last."

Somehow aware that her suggestion was indeed a good one, he replied good-naturedly, "Yes, sir, I shall make a note of it."

A week later he put things right. Vanessa was everything that she had been so long ago, and more. Trevor was suddenly involved with someone for the first time since college, and things were now looking up for Trevor and Lifelike Prosthetics in a way he could never have imagined.

Over the succeeding months Trevor and Vanessa grew into quite an item. They were seen everywhere, Washington society suddenly taking note. They were a power couple on the rise, the press inevitably predicting only a matter of time before wedding bells would be heard.

Washington – Early August

**The phone rang, and reaching for it absent-mindedly, Trevor mumbled,** "Hello?"

"Trevor, it's Inspector Rush on the line," his assistant responded, "Do you want me to put him through to you?"

"Yes, Wanda, please put him through," he replied attentively.

"Hello," the voice said momentarily, "Rush, here. Is that you, Mr. Sutherland?"

"Yes. What a pleasant surprise, Inspector. To what do I owe this pleasure?"

"We need to talk," he replied curtly.

"Certainly, Inspector. When? Where?"

"Now, Mr. Sutherland. The usual place."

A half hour later, Trevor strode into the Minuteman Inn. Trevor shook Inspector Rush's hand and, plunking down beside him, he inquired breathlessly, "What gives, Inspector? What is so important that it couldn't wait?"

"I'm sorry to hit you up on such short notice, Mr. Sutherland, but things are rapidly heating up. Mr. Chavez is apparently about to become President of Venezuela."

"I see..." Trevor replied, but he really didn't see at all.

"You realize what that means, Mr. Sutherland? Chavez will now step up his attempts to locate Rebecca. He will be forced to, and Rebecca will quite possibly become the target of an assassin's bullet."

"Surely it isn't that dire," Trevor replied doubtfully.

"I assure you, Mr. Sutherland, it most certainly is," he replied succinctly.

"Why ever for?"

"This would not only sink Chavez if it ever got out, it would quite possibly destroy the economy of Venezuela. The stakes are huge."

"Right, I see now," Trevor replied, the danger to Rebecca suddenly coming into focus.

"So," Inspector Rush now suggested, "Have you thought about what I said at our last meeting?"

"Yes, of course...of course I've thought about it, Inspector."

"Don't give me that evasive crap, Mr. Sutherland! It's been nearly nine months since we last met! And during that span of time I've heard not a single peep from you!"

"Has it indeed been that long, Inspector?"

Inspector Rush said nothing to this, preferring to simply glare at Trevor in disfavor.

"I say, I did in fact think about it. But then I saw Rebecca at Christmas, and that quite put me off."

"Yes, I heard you saw her. Why did it stop you?"

"Well, she didn't seem to want my help. I thought better of it after that."

"What has that got to do with anything at all! She _needs_ your help, whether she _wants_ it or not! And I submit to you that you are in no position to bandy about with such important decisions, Mr. Sutherland. Despite your cavalier attitude toward her, you still _owe_ her, big time!"

Trevor stared at him for a few moments and, the memories sweeping back over him, he volunteered, "Yes, of course, you're right. I suppose I've been distracted of late, Inspector."

"I'll say! I'll say you've been distracted! It's in all the papers. You and Vanessa Markham, you're the talk of Washington. I'll just bet you've been distracted."

"Right. I say, that may be true, but it is no excuse at all. I'm afraid I've let things slip a bit, Inspector. I promise, I shall rethink the events of that night. I shall think it over and get back to you."

"That's not good enough. You said the very same thing the last time we met, and it's been close on to a year."

"Alright then, what would satisfy you, Inspector?"

"What would satisfy me...what would satisfy me? Let me see...okay, here's a suggestion. Today is Monday. Meet me here for lunch on Friday. And bring me something, something hard, something with real punch. That will satisfy me, Mr. Sutherland."

Glancing inanely at his watch, Trevor pondered a moment, then, raising his eyes to the inspector, he replied despondently, "Yes, you are correct, Inspector. It has been almost eight years. It is indeed time. I should face this thing down once and for all. Right, I agree."

"And another thing," Inspector Rush put in, "Why did you never tell me that Rebecca performed in Richmond three weeks before the show on the yacht?"

"What? Didn't I tell you that?"

"No, sir, you didn't!"

"But what has that got to do with anything, Inspector?"

Ignoring his question, Inspector Rush queried, "So you didn't purposefully withhold information from me regarding Rebecca's actions before the yacht party?"

"No, sir, not that I am aware of."

At this Inspector Rush eyed him suspiciously and suggested, "One last question, Mr. Sutherland."

"Of course," Trevor responded quizzically.

"Why was I not informed that you and Vanessa Markham had married?"

"What! I, I...er..." Trevor stammered, adding in embarrassment, "What possible difference could it have made, Inspector?"

"You leave that part to me, sir," Inspector Rush replied and, his eyes flashing ominously, he repeated, "Review _everything_ , Mr. Sutherland, and when you have, I shall expect you to disclose _everything_ you can recall, whether big or small."

"Yes, sir, I believe I understand," Trevor responded, "I shall see you here on Friday at noon," and with that, he arose and departed.

Later That Same Day

**Trevor trudged into** his apartment and, slumping down on his sofa, he vowed to face his demons at long last. Within moments he dragged himself to his feet and, stepping behind the bar, he poured himself a stiff shot of scotch. For perhaps the hundredth time, he pulled the photo of himself out of the envelope and, scanning it, he sought some sort of revelation regarding the strange events of that night more than six months earlier. There he was – totally naked, an unidentifiable woman riding him, like a lime-green Shetland pony. Such a disgusting sight, but one he could somehow not erase from his mind. He knew he had to get beyond the ignominy of her exacted vengeance, but somehow he just couldn't get there. Leaning back in abject misery, he took a much-needed gulp of scotch.

Then suddenly, his mother's words to him echoing in his mind, words from long ago, something to do with failure and vengeance. Oh, and compassion. "Get on with it," he told himself. "You promised Inspector Rush you would. Now get past it. Find the strength to help Rebecca, you unmitigated jerk."

A full glass and further contemplation later, he was finally nearing the necessary penultimate step that had been lying dormant within him for seven long years. Thus arising, he poured himself another glass of scotch, subsequently padding into his office to locate another quite different envelope.

Carefully extracting a movie tape from the envelope, he placed it in the tape player and turned on the television in trepidation. He sat down on the sofa and, leaning back, he sucked down another long gulp of scotch. The time had finally arrived to watch the movie that he had made that night on the yacht. Steeling himself to the coming horror, he forced himself to find the courage to push the play button.

Events on the tape began slowly, the memories eventually rushing back, excruciating memories of events long suppressed. It was all coming back to him now. There she was, decked out in that fabulous costume, her enormous black cape enshrouding that heavenly body.

The first part was actually not at all difficult for him to watch. Still, he grew increasingly agitated as it played forward. Each passing moment building climactically, he gradually grew to understand why he had never had the courage to watch it before.

Eventually, arriving at the part when she stepped down from the stage, he found that he simply could not continue. Punching the pause button, he took another gulp from his glass of scotch, struggling to find the courage to go on. Regaining his impetus after a few moments, he pushed the play button once again. The footage mesmerizing him, he was nevertheless unable to pinpoint the source of his angst.

Having come to the part that he had pointedly avoided viewing for so many years, he was aware that at long last he had no choice but to push on through it. For the first time he understood that until he did so, he would never be able to move on with his life.

Slugging down yet another gulp of scotch, he pressed the play button yet again, searching carefully for telltale signs of something, anything at all that might be useful. Then it came to the ghastly part where she was cuffed by her hands and feet to the table, the camera continuing to catch every detail.

Chavez by now pumping away at her from behind, Trevor noticed something quite perplexing that he had failed to observe that night. It seemed that Rebecca was doing something cryptic with her right hand. Because he couldn't seem to make out exactly what it was, he played it back at a slower speed. Studying it several times, he eventually realized that she was making eight gestures, and she seemed to be making these same eight gestures repeatedly.

He halted the tape and, taking another sip of scotch, a vision struck him from his days in the military – he had learned Morse code in the Army. She was sending code! It wasn't Morse code, so it must have been something else...sign language! Rummaging around in his office for his edition of Webster's dictionary, he located the list of letters used for sign language within. Comparing the images in his dictionary to those in the video, he realized in shock that she had sent a message. Although it took him several minutes of playing and replaying, he eventually spelled out the letters: H-E-L-P...R-A-P-E. Incredibly, she had sent a message describing her own demise: Help! Rape!

Washington – The Following Day

**Inspector Rush sat drinking a cup of coffee,** idly perusing some recent files, when his phone rang. Hoisting it to his ear, he said, "Inspector Rush."

The voice on the other end replied, "Inspector Rush, this is Trevor Sutherland. I've been thinking since our meeting yesterday. I have some evidence that you may be interested in with regard to the events of that night. I believe that it cannot wait until Friday. In fact, I think we should meet right away."

"Alright, Mr. Sutherland, meet me at the coffee shop in Union Station in an hour," and without even waiting to hear if that was okay, he hung up.

An hour later Trevor sat down in the seat next to Inspector Rush. "Inspector Rush," he said, offering his hand.

Inspector Rush took his outstretched hand, saying, "I told you that you would think of something, Mr. Sutherland."

"Right," Trevor replied grimly and, wandering over to the bar to buy himself a cup of coffee, he returned with one for each of them.

Inspector Rush now got to the point straightaway, "Okay, give it over, Mr. Sutherland. What's up?"

Momentarily peering at him over the rim of his cup, Trevor finally offered succinctly, "I made a movie that night, Inspector."

Half-rising from his seat, Inspector Rush exclaimed, "What the...you did what?"

"You heard me. I made a movie. I got the whole thing on tape."

" _THING! THING!_ You moron, you mean _RAPE,_ I assume."

"Of course, I do in fact mean rape, Inspector."

"You are one piece of work, Mr. Sutherland. First you pimp for that sweet young lady, and then you make movies for yourself so you can get your jollies watching her strip as often as you want. You are one sick pervert!"

Trevor gazed at him for a moment, then replied, "Not bad, Inspector, and not far off the mark. But, to be sure, I did not know that I was making a pornographic film, or I can assure you, I would never have taken her there that night. Furthermore, I never actually watched the movie until last night."

"Well, if that doesn't beat all! First you pimp for her, then you make your own private porn movie of her, and now you expect me to believe that you had no prurient intentions?"

"I confess to making the film for myself, but I assure you, I expected only a repeat of her performance at Halloween, one which was in no way pornographic," Trevor replied defensively.

"This whole discussion is fraught with something that comes out of the hind end of a bull, my friend. If you decided not to watch the movie, then why in heaven's name didn't you turn it over to me years ago?"

"Good question, Inspector. I suppose at first I was afraid that I would be implicated. Still later, I suppose I hoped the whole thing would go away. I suppose I even hoped that Rebecca would somehow get beyond it. And later still, as my compassion for her circumstances grew, I suppose I wanted to protect her from the possibility of the tape becoming public.

"Of course, I now know that I was completely off the mark. It didn't go away, and Rebecca couldn't get past it. What's worse, she has reaped vengeance on me, proof that she hasn't gotten over it, and now, the guy that raped her is about to become the next President of Venezuela. And here is the thing, Inspector, for seven long years I couldn't bring myself to view the film. Thinking that there was nothing at all of significance therein, I studiously avoided viewing it, I who had filmed it myself!"

"Yeah," Inspector Rush replied. Pausing for a moment, he scratched his chin, took a sip of his coffee, then continued, observing, "Damn! As ridiculous as that whole story is, it actually comes off sounding believable. You really are a changed man, aren't you, Mr. Sutherland."

"No, sir, nothing of the sort. I can assure you. I deserve every appalling punishment that could come my way related to this case, of that I am certain. I made an enormous and deplorable mistake, one that I have been attempting to rectify ever since. And now, in fact way too late in my own view, I believe that I may finally have hit on a solution that could help to achieve Miss Carey's freedom."

"I want to hear this, don't get me wrong, but before you continue, could you tell me what revenge she perpetrated against you? I'm just dying to know," Inspector Rush put in with a devilish grin.

"Oh, nothing too onerous, sir. She and her girlfriends drugged me one night in a bar in London. They then took me somewhere while I was out cold and, stripping me naked, they painted my entire body lime green, stuck a broomstick up my ass, and sent me a photo of myself. Then they dumped me, still naked, by the Thames River, where I awoke the next morning."

"Yeeha!" Inspector Rush roared in elation, "I love it! I'm proud of that young lady. You had that and more coming to you, you jerk!"

"Point taken, Inspector."

Inspector Rush gazed at Trevor, then expounded, "Sooo, you got me here. I'm wondering what for."

"Sir, I would like your advice," Trevor replied.

"About what?"

"I would like your help in deciding what is the best course of action regarding the disposition of the tape."

"What, you're not planning to turn it over to me?"

"Frankly, I'm not convinced that I should do so," Trevor suggested.

"For God's sake, why?" Inspector Rush queried in obvious mystification.

"Right, for the simple reason that I doubt seriously that you could do anything useful with it. That's why."

Scratching his chin in contemplation yet again, Inspector Rush volunteered, "Yes, well, there IS _that_. With our wonderful legal system, it might just never see the light of day." Taking another sip of coffee, he added, "Excellent point, Trevor, excellent point. So let me ask you this, does the tape make it clear that she was raped that night?"

"I say, I assure you – it most certainly does! Why would you doubt that she was raped?"

"That wasn't my question. I'm referring to what would be accepted in a court of law. A woman goes onto a yacht with fifty men onboard, ostensibly for the purpose of stripping down to her birthday suit, and one of the attendees surreptitiously has his way with her in full view of the audience. I ask you, is that rape?"

"I see your point, sir. The fact that she was bound to a table while the act occurred is not sufficient evidence, since the perpetrator could claim that she was supposed to act as if she was not a willing participant, all as a preplanned part of her performance. Is that the implication?"

"Precisely, Trevor, precisely," and then he added, "God, you mean he had her bound to a table? That's disgusting."

"Right, she was handcuffed at the wrists and ankles. But I agree, that could be legally construed as nothing more than sado-masochism on the part of the participants. On the other hand, suppose I told you that I had conclusive evidence on the tape that she was raped. Would that change the legal situation?"

"I don't see how you could have such evidence, but I'm nonetheless listening."

"Okay, suppose I told you that Rebecca attempted to leave the stage after her performance. Chavez then dragged her back onstage, handcuffed her hands and feet to the table, and during all of this she was quite obviously under duress."

"Interesting, but still not conclusive. The defense would declare her performance deserving of an academy award."

Trevor now offered his second and final piece of evidence, and he knew it was a good one. "Inspector, suppose that while Mr. Chavez was raping her, bound to the table and in full view of the camera, she was using sign language to repeatedly spell out the words – Help! Rape!"

At this, Inspector Rush immediately popped halfway from his chair, saying, "Well, I'll be damned!"

At this Trevor stared silently at Inspector Rush, simply awaiting his next utterance. After several moments he got his answer, "Well, that ought to do it, Trevor, old boy. I'd say Chavez is toast!"

"Not so fast, Inspector," Trevor replied. "There's one other small detail to be accounted for."

"Oh? And what might that be?"

"If that movie makes it to the courtroom, and it most certainly will have to in order to convict Chavez, we both know that Rebecca will never EVER live it down. Surely she doesn't deserve to be subjected to such a public spectacle."

Peering at Trevor for a few moments, the inspector exclaimed, "Damn, you're right!" He reflected for a moment and then added, "And now I know the answer to the question that has been driving me nuts all these years. You, sir, are desperately in love with her, or you wouldn't give a rat's behind whether the film hurt her or not."

Ignoring this last part, Trevor responded, "I suggest that we put our heads together and solve this problem to her benefit."

Inspector Rush peered at him for a moment and inquired, "So what do you have in mind to do, Mr. Sutherland?"

"I thought you'd never ask!" Trevor replied, "I have an idea I'd like to run by you."
Chapter 11

Facing Reality

London – Late August, 1976

**Handing his passport** **to the agent, Trevor** **murmured respectfully,** "Good morning."

The agent responded grimly, "Good morning, sir," then stamped his passport and handed it back to him, offering, "Welcome home, sir."

"Thanks," Trevor replied with apparent relief, at which point he headed for baggage claim. On claiming his baggage, he took a taxi straight to his London flat, deciding prudently to give it a night's rest before approaching his father. Heading straight for Lord Sutherland's office the following morning, he asked the receptionist politely on his arrival, "Is the Earl in?"

"Is he expecting you, sir?" the receptionist responded distantly.

"Well, yes and no. He is my father."

"Oh! I'm so sorry, sir. I didn't know. I shall inform him that you are here to see him."

Shortly thereafter Trevor was ushered into a stately room that was paneled with dark wood from floor to ceiling. Lord Sutherland came forward and, shaking Trevor's hand, he announced, "I say, this must be quite important. How long has it been since you've been to my London office, son?"

"Sir, I've actually never been in this office," Trevor offered meekly.

"Then I take it you're not here to pass the time of day. Am I correct?"

"Yes, sir, spot on."

Since his father was obviously keen to hear from him, Trevor launched straightaway into it, announcing, "Sir, you may as well know, I made a movie on the yacht that night seven years ago."

"A video! Why ever on earth for, Trevor!"

"All I can say is, it was for personal reasons. I had no intention of using the movie for my own gain, sir."

"Yes. Yes, of course," Lord Sutherland replied impatiently, "But why did you not turn the movie over to the authorities at the time of the incident, son?"

"Sir, I believe that you will recall that I was under suspicion at that time, Inspector Rush having implied that I might be indicted for a crime. I was simply protecting the family interest. Admittedly, that may have been a misguided notion, but that is the only excuse that I can give you."

"Yes, I see," Lord Sutherland responded. "Now, exactly why are you bringing this movie up to me at this particular juncture in time?"

"Sir, I am hoping that you might be able to help me to right a wrong on Miss Carey's behalf, and now seems to be the appropriate time to undertake to rectify that wrong."

"And what might that be?"

"As I am sure you are aware, Miss Carey was raped that night by Hernando Chavez in the presence of an audience. The entire horrendous event is made painfully clear in the movie. She even spells out Help and Rape using sign language during the crime itself."

"I understand – conclusive evidence. You don't need to amplify," he responded grimly.

"Yes, I am sincerely sorry to have to bring it up, but I feel the need to convey the circumstances. I assume that you know that Hernando Chavez is the Minister of Finance for the Government of Venezuela, father."

"Yes, indeed I do."

"Well, it appears that Mr. Chavez is about to be elected the next President of Venezuela. If that were to happen, I believe that his repeated appearances in the world press might be traumatic to Miss Carey. More importantly, he might well step up his efforts to locate her in order to ensure that his vicious attack on her is never revealed to the public."

Stroking his chin introspectively, Lord Sutherland replied, "Hmmm, yes, I see your point. So what do you have in mind?"

"I propose the following. I suggest that the film be used toward two ends. First, as you know, Mr. Chavez is extremely wealthy. I propose that he be blackmailed by British Intelligence for the purpose of recovering a sizable amount of money from his holdings."

"What! That is quite out of the question!"

Ignoring his father's objection, Trevor continued with, "After that, I suggest that a copy of the movie be sent to Fidel Castro."

"Why ever should we do that?" Lord Sutherland asked in obvious confusion.

"Sir, it is not widely known, but Hernando Chavez fought with Fidel Castro and Che Guevara in the Cuban revolution."

"You're kidding!"

"No, sir, I'm not."

"Alright then, but to what end?"

"Sir, Chavez is a communist. He is attempting to install a communist government in Venezuela, and if he does, it will strengthen the USSR's position in the Western Hemisphere. Should it come out that Chavez is a criminal it will undermine efforts to expand communism in the West."

"Ah, I see," Lord Sutherland replied. "You think that sending the movie to Castro will force the communists to handle this mess internally."

"Yes, sir, and to make matters worse, it appears that Chavez met with Lee Harvey Oswald in Mexico City in early 1963."

"What! Don't tell me that Chavez is involved in the assassination of President Kennedy!"

"No idea," Trevor responded, "But, were attention drawn to Chavez' criminal actions, it could stir up the assassination theorists within the U.S., in the process destabilizing current relations between the East and West."

"How in heck do you know all of this, Trevor?"

"Sir, I am in direct contact with the CIA via Inspector Rush. You remember him, I assume."

"Of course I do. How could I forget? So where does that leave us?"

"Sir, there is incontrovertible evidence on the tape that Miss Carey was raped entirely against her will, and furthermore, that the perpetrator was Hernando Chavez. The film will therefore force the hands of the communists to ensure that the movie never reaches the light of day. Chavez will necessarily have to be dealt with, and once he is out of the way, attempts by the communists to gain a foothold in Venezuela will be severely diminished. And, although it is of no concern to the British government, there will be no possibility of Miss Carey enduring further pain via the press. Ultimately, she will be able to come out of hiding and live a normal life."

"But why don't you undertake to square the debt by yourself, son?"

"For the simple reason that as soon as Chavez is blackmailed, he shall immediately attempt to have me removed. The fact is that I am the only person who could possibly have made such a movie that night. I shall therefore become a target in the process. Accordingly, I am in need of someone skilled and professional to handle this on my behalf."

"And why did you not consult with the American authorities regarding this matter, son? It would seem that they have jurisdiction in this case."

"I did in fact consult with them, and it seems that they are unprepared to resolve the matter, sir. Their position is that, while it is in their interests for Chavez to be removed from the political scene, the Bay of Pigs fiasco has made it inadvisable for them to undertake another potentially destabilizing activity at this time. You of course recall that the Bay of Pigs led to the Cuban Missile Crisis shortly thereafter."

"Yes, and what a mess that was! The Americans can't seem to take care of themselves, can they!"

"Precisely, father. That is why they should not be involved."

"Alright, that makes sense. So why contact me, Trevor?"

"Two reasons, sir. First, I thought that you might have sufficient authority with British Intelligence to pull it off. Second, I hoped that you might hold a grudge on my behalf, not to mention Miss Carey's."

"Interesting, quite interesting, Trevor. I say, I believe I like it. Actually, I like it indeed. I like it so much so that I believe I just might see what I can do about it."

"Thank you, sir. That is good to know," Trevor responded.

"One thing, Trevor - you mentioned blackmail. To what end would that be served?"

"Chavez certainly doesn't deserve or need all that money, and it is the least that Miss Carey deserves for the massive humiliation that she has suffered. If the blackmail plan is successful, I would respectfully request that the money recovered be transferred as an anonymous gift to Miss Carey."

"Oh, I say, good show! That is quite sporting of you. I doubt that there could be a better use for it, and the notion of recompense to Miss Carey is well intentioned, I might add."

"Thank you, sir. I assume then that you will undertake to put the film to my suggested use. I am therefore turning the copy over to you."

Trevor thenceforth reached into his briefcase and handed the tape to his father who, gingerly placing it within his desk drawer, subsequently inquired, "Trevor, did you say _copy_?"

"Yes, sir, I did," Trevor replied, "But here also is the original. Please, take it, sir. I don't ever want to lay eyes on it again."

"Quite so. Under the circumstances, you have been extremely sporting, son. I therefore believe that I am not in a position to question your motives. However, I do have one further question for you."

"What is that, sir," Trevor asked politely.

"Why are you placing your own life at risk on behalf of Miss Carey?"

"Sir, I owe it to her. I can never hope to make amends to her for what I did. But I can certainly try."

"Well said, son, well said. I must say that I believe there is some hope for you to rehabilitate yourself completely from this entire sad affair. I for one am most impressed with what you are proposing, and I am quite certain that Miss Carey shall be ever so thankful to you."

"No, sir. She must never know. On that I must be clear. She has suffered enough already. Were she to know, she would be forced to relive events that are better left buried. Please, father, I beg of you, do not disclose any of this to her!"

"Ah, yes, I see your point. I do have one question, though."

"Yes, sir? What might that be?"

"Why not come clean with your father and admit that you are quite in love with Miss Carey?"

His eyes suddenly bulging in surprise, Trevor blurted, "But that is quite impossible, sir, as you must well know."

"Oh? Please enlighten me."

"I am engaged, to another, sir. And besides, Miss Carey is entirely unsuited to be the wife of a future earl."

"And what makes you say that?" his father inquired.

"As I'm sure you are aware, she was for a time a professional exotic dancer, sir. And were we two to marry, it would most assuredly become public knowledge."

"That may be, Trevor, but surely there are worse things in life."

Peering at his father in confusion, Trevor queried, "Like what?"

"Like a loveless marriage!"

Shaking his head in even greater confusion, Trevor stammered, "But...well...sir..."

"Just promise me one thing, my son."

"Yes, sir?"

"Promise me that you shall endeavor to think this entire mess through to its proper conclusion," and seeing his son's hesitation, he demanded, "Promise me!"

"Yes, sir, I promise," Trevor nodded, and so saying, the two shook hands and Trevor departed.

Washington - Two Weeks Later

American Press International

September 5, 1976

Washington, DC – Sources report that Trevor Sutherland, President and CEO of Lifelike Prosthetics and son of the Earl of Winston, was shot on the steps of his world headquarters in Washington this morning. Mr. Sutherland was rushed to Mount Sinai Hospital, where his status is unknown at this time. Stay tuned as we report further developments regarding this apparent assassination attempt in our nation's capital.

Mount Sinai Hospital - Three Hours Later

**Sarah rushed breathlessly** into the hospital room. "Is he going to be all right?" She blurted to the attendant nurse.

"Are you a relative?" the nursed queried in an ominous tone.

In a panic, Sarah lied, "Yes, I'm his sister."

"He is resting comfortably. He has three broken ribs, but the doctor says that he will make a full recovery. We currently have him sedated to deal with the short-term pain. When he comes to, he's going to be one sore fellow. A bulletproof vest knocks down the bullet, but the impact is not mitigated at all. He was shot with a high-powered rifle, so he's lucky to be alive. If he hadn't been wearing the vest, he would undoubtedly be dead."

Sarah plopped down thankfully in the chair next to the bed, preparing herself for a long night. Since he was out cold, she curled up in the chair, attempting to get some sleep. Around five A.M. she opened her eyes and stretched. Glancing over to see how he was doing, she could see that he was wide awake, simply staring silently at her.

"Can you hear me, Trevor?"

He nodded his assent, but didn't speak.

"You're in the hospital. You're going to be okay. How did you know that you needed to wear a bulletproof vest? No, don't answer that. You can tell me when you are able to talk."

He nodded again, and once again he did not speak.

"It's in all the papers, Trevor. You survived. That's what counts. Oh, and by the way, you now have a police guard twenty-four hours a day. Don't ask me who is pulling the strings, but you seem to have friends in high places. Something is going on here, and I'm sure it's going to be quite interesting when you tell me what it is. You _ARE_ going to tell me, aren't you?"

He nodded yet again, but then his eyes fluttered.

"I can see you're tired. You need to get some rest. I'm going to go home, but I'll be back this afternoon. We can talk then, okay?"

He nodded yet again, then closed his eyes.

Mount Sinai Hospital - The Following Morning

**Trevor was by now feeling** **well enough to talk** and, determined to corner him, Sarah asked pointedly, "So what's going on, Trevor? Are you in on some caper with British Intel?"

"No, nothing like that," he replied in a raspy whisper from his hospital bed.

"What is it then?" she queried.

"It's a long story, Sarah. And since I'm in no shape to tell you a long story, I fear I shall be forced to give you the short version."

"Okay, fire away, boss."

"Well, you remember what happened just before I joined the Army, right?"

"Of course, who could forget? You were a complete jerk."

"Right, you've hit on the correct events. It seems that the guy who raped Rebecca on the yacht tried to have me killed."

"What! Why on Earth would he do that, Trevor?"

"Because I attempted to have the selfsame thing done to him. That's why."

"Good grief!" she exclaimed. "Please don't tell me that you are fronting for some crime ring. I think that I would have to quit working for you."

"No, it's nothing like that. Let's just say, I had evidence that would put Hernando Chavez away for life, and I gave it to the authorities."

"Oh, my God! This is straight out of some James Bond movie! Who in heaven's name are you working with, the CIA?"

"It isn't nearly so complicated, Sarah. I simply gave the evidence to the right person."

"What evidence, Trevor. Come on, come clean."

"A video."

Her face paling noticeably at this revelation, she blurted, "You bastard! You couldn't leave well enough alone, could you! You were a real piece of work back then, you know that?"

"Yes, to my eternal damnation. Anyway, I believe that my contact followed up, or I wouldn't have been shot. Lucky for me, whoever did it didn't go for a head shot. I feel like I was hit by a truck, but I should be okay in a few days."

"I'm proud of you, even though you are a jerk, you know that?"

"Thank you, Sarah. Kinder words have never been spoken to me," and at this he attempted to laugh but, lurching forward in agony, he added painfully, "Ow! Do NOT make me laugh! At least not for another week."

"Got it, boss. Bryan and I will keep things shipshape at the office until you're back at work. Fortunately, you have everything running smoothly at the moment, so it shouldn't be a problem. While you're recovering I'll have all of your stock transferred to me by the board. Oops! I forgot – I'm not supposed to make you laugh!"

Trevor smiled but, resisting further reaction, he whispered, "Now, get out of here and let me get some rest, okay?"

"Right, boss," and at this she turned to leave.

Dulles Airport – A Short Time Later

**Spotting him immediately as she exited customs, Rebecca** waved vigorously and rushed headlong into his awaiting arms. And without even saying hello, she inquired, "Is he alive, Inspector? Just tell me he's still alive."

"Yes, he's going to be just fine, Rebecca," he responded.

"Well, that's a relief," she mumbled into his shoulder.

Momentarily releasing her, he stood back and said, "Here, let me look at you. After all, it's been a long time, hasn't it!"

"You're telling me, but all in all, you were right about me coming in. I've had quite a good time in London these past few years."

"Good! You deserve it, Rebecca."

"So, let's get right to it. Where can we go to get caught up?"

"Thought you'd never ask. There's a coffee shop just down the ramp here, and so saying, he guided her to the aforementioned spot.

Once ensconced with coffee in hand, Rebecca queried, "So, you got Chavez. Bravo, Inspector."

"Thanks, but it wasn't my doing."

Her eyes bulging, she asked, "Oh, then who's was it?"

"All in good time, Rebecca, just bear with me. There's a lot to tell."

Eyeing him impatiently, she suggested, "So tell me...tell me everything."

"Rebecca, brace yourself – you were adopted at birth by your parents."

"What! You're kidding!" she blurted in obvious denial.

"It's true. I found the adoption records, and when I confronted your mother, she admitted it to me."

"But why did she never tell me?"

"She didn't want you to think less of her, that's why. Surely you can understand that."

"Ok-kay..." Rebecca replied, "But why was I adopted in the first place?"

"It was your brother. When he was born, there were complications. As a result, your mother had to have a hysterectomy, so she couldn't have any more children. And as you well know, your brother was not particularly normal. So your mother wanted to have a 'normal' child, and the only possibility of doing so was if they adopted. A year later they adopted you."

Her mind racing forward, Rebecca now inquired, "But what has that got to do with anything?"

"Everything, Rebecca, it has everything to do with _everything_!" he blurted.

"I don't understand. How so?"

"You were born one of identical twins."

" _What_!"

"You heard me, you have an identical twin sister."

At this Rebecca stared into space for a long moment, then mumbled, "Oh, my goodness! This is beyond belief...."

"I couldn't agree more..."

Her features suddenly lighting up in awareness, she exclaimed, "So my twin sister, whatever her name is, she's the one that performed in Richmond!"

"Bingo!"

"Alright," she murmured to herself, "Just give me a second, I'm catching up, Inspector. So, how long have you known this?"

"Oh, quite a while. I couldn't figure out why you would debase yourself like that, so I just kept digging to find out why you would do such a thing. As it turned out, you hadn't done it at all."

"I see..." she murmured, "So, where is she, my twin sister?"

"I'm afraid I can't tell you that, Rebecca."

"Why? I want to see her!"

"I'm afraid you can't, and surely you understand why."

Frowning at him for a moment, her expression suddenly changed, and she blurted knowingly, "Right. You're protecting the both of us. I get it."

"Precisely," he replied. "You are both material witnesses. But now that Chavez is dead, I'm hopeful that things will clear up in short order."

"But I don't understand, Inspector. If I have a twin sister who is apparently a stripper, then why was I the one picked to perform on the yacht that night? To what end, I ask you? Surely this is something bigger than we imagined."

At this he smiled knowingly at her and acknowledged, "Precisely, Rebecca, precisely."

"My, my, you've been holding back on me, Inspector," she responded with newfound respect.

At this he grinned and responded, "As have you me!"

She giggled reflexively and agreed, "We are quite the pair, aren't we!"

"Rebecca," he exclaimed, "Surely you know by now that I have grown attached to you. I am here to protect you, and rest assured, I'm going to get to the bottom of this whole thing. There are just a few details to be sorted out. Toward that end, I need your help."

"Yes, I understand," she reflected, "What can I do to help you?"

The Washington Mall – That Afternoon

**Sarah sat on a park bench on the mall,** nibbling languorously at her lunch. She loved this time of year in Washington. The winters were dreary and depressing, but springtime in Washington was always a time of hope and renewal. She had a great boyfriend, and she was unbelievably happy with her job. Working with Trevor had been a considerable gamble when she had accepted, but he had offered her such a great salary four years ago. And now here she was, Vice-President of Corporate Relations for the largest company of its type in the world. She was certainly fortunate, and she owed it all to Trevor.

Suddenly recognizing the brown-haired woman coming towards her, she abruptly jumped up and exclaimed, "Rebecca, My God! It's so good to see you! I couldn't believe it when you called. Is it really you?" And at this, the pair hugged so fiercely that they nearly toppled sideways.

Rebecca cooed smoothly, "Yes, it's me, Sarah. It's really me. You don't have to hug me to death just to prove I'm still alive!"

The pair giggled convivially and, still embracing, Sarah jumped up and down as if she were twelve years old. Intoxicated by Sarah's reaction, Rebecca joined in, passersby now struck by the bizarre behavior of the two women jumping up and down together on the Washington Mall.

Eventually, the pair calming a bit, Sarah offered, "Please, sit down! Oh, God, tell me you have time to talk. Oh, please, please, please, Rebecca!"

"Yes, of course I have time to talk. Actually, I called you for a reason."

"What, you mean you came all the way from London just to see me?"

"How did you know that I live in London, Sarah?"

"Trevor told me. How long have you been there?"

"Coming up on seven years. I've been in the witness protection program."

"Ah, I see. You followed my advice. You went to see Inspector Rush."

"Correct. And you were right, Sarah. He saved my life, I'm certain of it. But I do need to bury some old demons. I hope you don't mind, but I am desperately in need of your help."

"Uh, oh, I am afraid I know where this is going," Sarah responded knowingly. "It's Trevor, isn't it?"

"Yes, I'm afraid so, Sarah. Please don't be horrid with me. I know it's unfair of me to disappear for all these years, and then to suddenly pop up out of nowhere and demand your help, but I promise, Sarah, if you help me, we shall become friends once again, and I shall not disappear for seven years, as I did before."

"Deal!" Sarah replied perfunctorily. "What's up, Rebecca?"

"Oh, God, it's so _GOOD_ to see you," Rebecca replied.

"Got it, now please don't keep me in suspense any longer."

"Right, down to business. Tell me everything you know about Trevor Sutherland, Sarah."

At this Sarah giggled and responded, "That will take about three weeks, but if you have the time, then so do I!"

"Okay, okay, I'm just as impatient as you, so let me start with the high points. Look, Lady Sutherland invited me to Wharton Manor last Christmas. Trevor showed up, and Bryan was with him. Were you aware of that event?"

"No, I've been out of the loop, I'm afraid."

"Okay," Rebecca replied, "That answers question number one. So let's move on to question number two. What the heck happened two days ago, Sarah?"

"Uhm, I'm not sure what you're referring to, Rebecca."

"I'm not a fool, Sarah. I've been checking up on Trevor. What happened? First, he gets shot right downtown, the press reporting that he's been hit by a sniper's bullet. But then it develops that, for some reason he's been wearing a bulletproof vest. Surely you don't expect me to believe that it was a coincidence."

"I've been wondering the same thing!"

"So you have no idea what the heck is going on."

"Not really, but I could hazard a guess."

"Okay, I take it that you can't answer because it would violate a confidence. Am I correct?"

"Uh, well, sort of. Look, I can tell you a little bit, but please don't put me on the spot, okay?"

"Sure," Rebecca nodded.

"Look, I thought something strange was going on when Trevor started wearing a bulletproof vest. And then within a few weeks he gets shot! My God, that was _NOT_ a coincidence. So I cornered him this morning in the hospital. He admitted to me that he passed some information to British Intelligence."

"So you saw him at the hospital this morning?" Rebecca replied, "How is he doing?"

"Oh, he's doing fine under the circumstances. I was really worried, I don't mind telling you. I thought I might have lost him," Sarah volunteered.

Taking in Sarah's reaction, Rebecca changed the subject, inquiring, "So what was it he gave to British Intelligence?"

"It was apparently something sufficient to make Chavez attempt to kill him," Sarah responded matter-of-factly, but then, her visage changing, she added, "Obviously, it worked."

"Boy, did it," Rebecca replied. "So what was the evidence?"

"I'm afraid that I'm not going to be able to tell you that part, Rebecca."

"Fair enough. Just tell me if it's bad, Sarah."

"Yes, I'm sorry to say, it's bad, girl. It's very bad."

"Okay," Rebecca responded. "Listen, I have a theory, and I need to know for certain if I am right. Can you help me?"

"Sure, what do you need from me?"

"Listen, he lied to me about his involvement on the yacht that night. I've always suspected that he knew from the start what Chavez had planned for me that night."

At this Sarah turned pale, blurting, "Well, that's one thing I can already sort out for you. Trevor didn't know Chavez' plans that night."

"What! How in heaven's name could you know anything at all about that, Sarah?"

"Because Bryan told me, that's why. Bryan was involved, you know."

"Yes, but Bryan told me that Trevor planned it and asked him to mention it to me because Trevor and I weren't speaking to one another."

"That is not quite right. According to Bryan, it was Miguel who found out about the birthday party on the yacht. He was the one who arranged it, and he didn't tell Bryan exactly what Chavez had planned for that night."

"What! Oh, wow!" Rebecca replied, overwhelmed by this admission. Now catching up, she observed, "So Miguel planned the whole thing. Soooo, Trevor didn't know what Chavez was planning to do that night. That's one more piece of the puzzle in place."

"What else, Rebecca?"

"Okay, this one's going to be a tough one. How was it that Chavez knew that I was a virgin? I never told that to anyone but Trevor."

"Wrong again!"

"What! Who else knew I was a virgin, Sarah?"

"Oh, we all did," Sarah observed matter-of-factly.

At this, Rebecca paled, then queried, "But how?"

"Rebecca, I'm so sorry," Sarah put in, "We were all so young. Virginity was this big thing, don't you remember? All the girls talked about it all the time."

"Not me!"

"Well, there is that...but I knew."

"What! How did you know, Sarah?"

"You told me! On the night of the Halloween party, you told me that 'virgins can't go out dressed like this'."

"Oh, my...did I really say that to you?"

"Yes, you did, Rebecca. And, sorry to say, I told Vanessa, who undoubtedly told all the other girls in the sorority."

Rebecca eyed her for the longest time, and then muttered, "Damn...what an idiot I've been."

"I'm so sorry, Rebecca."

"Too late for apologies. Besides, it's my own fault. The bottom line is – if everyone knew, then my suspicion that Trevor told Chavez I was a virgin can't hold water. So, one more piece of the puzzle falls into place."

At this Sarah simply nodded in silence.

Regaining her train of thought, Rebecca now stated, "I'm going to need your help to find out one final thing - what was Trevor doing on the yacht that night after he disappeared."

"Trevor was making a movie, Rebecca. He told me - he was making a movie. And that's what he gave to British Intelligence. That's why Chavez put out a contract to have him shot."

"Oh, my God! I get it now!" Rebecca responded and, taking it in for the first time, she posited, "He got British Intelligence to blackmail Chavez. Assuming that Trevor was the one doing the blackmailing, Chavez must've tried to have him killed. When that failed, he must've paid the blackmailers, and the payment somehow ended up going to my bank account. British Intel must have given the movie to someone that had the power to have Chavez assassinated. Ah, it all fits together now."

"Blackmail?" Sarah interjected, "What are you babbling about, Rebecca?"

"Tell you later...," and, staring morosely off into space for a few moments, Rebecca regained her composure and added, "Oh, Sarah, one other thing." At this she motioned to a young man who was sitting on a park bench nearby. The young man smiled at Rebecca's entreaty, gingerly coming forward.

"Sarah, I'd like you to meet my brother, James," and she was signing to James as she said this. Turning to James, she said, "James, this is my very good friend, Sarah."

James smiled and, speaking in broken words, he uttered, "It is very nice to meet you, Sarah."

"Oh, my God," Sarah exclaimed, and she launched herself into James arms, hugging him fiercely. Then, turning back to Rebecca, she exclaimed gleefully, "God, I'm so proud of you, girl. I assume James is living with you now?"

"But of course!" Rebecca responded matter-of-factly.

"He's cute as a button, Rebecca. I can see the family resemblance."

"Better watch what you say, Sarah. He reads lips tolerably well," Rebecca replied. And while this was going on, James simply stood back and beamed proudly.

"Wow! Isn't this great!" Sarah put in, "I'm engaged to be married, and you are back in my life!"

"Engaged?" Rebecca inquired in surprise, "Do I know him?"

"Yes, but I think I'd better keep it a secret for the moment, okay?"

"Sure," Rebecca replied and, changing the subject, she inquired, "So, other than being shot, how is Trevor doing these days?"

"Oh, he's doing fine, at least as well as could be expected."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"You know, all that pent-up guilt, for all those years. I suppose he's never quite gotten over that night, if you must know."

"Tell me about it," Rebecca responded, "I have the same problem."

"So I take it there is no one special person in your life?"

"No," Rebecca murmured wistfully.

"I see..." Sarah observed.

At this the pair eyed each other momentarily and Rebecca announced, "Listen, I've got to run. But trust me on this, you will see me again _very soon_. This time I'm not going away, Sarah. Oh, and good luck with your impending marriage!"

Chapter 12

Compassion

Mount Sinai Hospital – The Following Morning

**Trevor was still in plenty of pain,** but he was somehow feeling much better. Having just completed a liquid breakfast, he was gazing out the window when in walked Sarah, accompanied by Inspector Rush.

"Good morning Sarah. Hello, Inspector. What brings you to my bedside?" Trevor inquired in confusion.

"Hi, Trevor," the inspector responded in his typically terse way, "How are you feeling?"

"I've been better, I suppose, but all in all, I believe that I am doing quite well, thank you."

"Excellent! The doctor tells me you will make a full recovery," and, now turning to more important matters, he volunteered, "It seems your plan worked, Trevor."

"Right," Trevor responded morosely, "It managed to get me shot!"

"Oh, more than that, I'd say," Inspector Rush observed.

"How so?" Trevor queried blankly.

"They got him, Trevor. Chavez committed suicide last night, or at least it was designed to appear that way. Damndest thing, he lept from the crest of Mount El Avila just overlooking Caracas."

"What!" Trevor blurted, and wincing in pain from the effort, he whispered, "He's _dead_? Are you quite certain?"

"Yep," was the curt response.

"Well, I'll be..." Trevor whispered, his voice trailing off.

"There's more," Inspector Rush now put in.

"More? What more could there possibly be than that?" Trevor murmured.

"I'm afraid Bryan Highsmith committed suicide this morning as well."

"What!" Trevor exclaimed and, lurching forward, he winced yet again in pain. Flopping back, he whispered, "What the hell is going on, Inspector?"

"It's complicated, Trevor."

At this evasive response Trevor turned and, frowning at Sarah, he whispered, "I say, Sarah, are you following this?"

"Inspector Rush filled me in a short while ago. You're not going to believe everything that went down, I'm afraid."

At this remark, a burgeoning silence invaded and, seeing the appropriate moment had arrived, Inspector Rush now turned to Trevor and inquired, "Are you up for a story?"

Staring quizzically at the inspector, he croaked, "I suppose I have no choice, so lay on Macduff."

"What?" Inspector Rush responded in confusion.

"Oh, nothing, Inspector. I am simply reminded of something from my youth," Trevor muttered.

"Perhaps we are thinking of the same events, Trevor," and with that the inspector began explaining, "It all started at a mixer in a sorority house on the UVa campus in the fall of 1967. One can assume that, given the ages of the participants and the readily available supply of alcohol, not to mention the doubtless ample quantity of hormones present on that occasion, it is no surprise that excessive fireworks resulted from that event."

Trevor suddenly supplying an arched brow laced with a frown of puzzlement, but Inspector raised one hand in signaled patience, thenceforth continuing with, "I am speaking, of course, of the night that Bryan, Miguel and you met Vanessa, Sarah and Rebecca. You see, it all started on that very night."

"What makes you think that, Inspector?" Trevor interjected.

"Trevor, I've been on this case for what seems like half my life, and during that span of time, I have interviewed more persons than you can possibly imagine, including five of the six that I just mentioned. And I can tell you this – all of you led me on quite a merry chase, each one but Sarah in turn responding evasively to my every question. But despite that, I eventually began to put it all together."

"Put what together?" Trevor interjected yet again.

"Think back to that night, Trevor. When Vanessa and you met, sparks immediately began to fly. Upon observing your apparent intoxication with Vanessa, Bryan's attention was immediately drawn elsewhere, to Vanessa's companion Rebecca. For her part, Vanessa was instantaneously smitten by you. On the other hand, Rebecca being the least experienced of the group, she was simply confused by events of that evening. Sarah, being a fifth wheel, was left out of the developing melee. As to Miguel, he was simply observing, for reasons that I will come to later. And finally, we come to you, the rakish young Englishman. You of course were interested in _both_ Vanessa and Rebecca, knowing full well that you were sufficiently attractive to UVa coeds that you could have the pick of anyone you chose."

Seeing Trevor's intended objection to this rather caddy remark, Inspector Rush admonished, "Spare me your feckless denials, Trevor." He then continued with, "So, on that night the seeds were planted for what would eventually grow into an international debacle involving rape, disappearance, political intrigue, international relations, kidnapping, murder, and suicide, not to mention hearts broken, and lives forever scarred.

"You see, by evening's end, Vanessa had fallen indelibly for you, Trevor. And, not surprisingly, Bryan had fallen for Rebecca. These two unfortunate developments were the seeds, seeds that, when they sprouted, precipitated no end of mayhem. Now, think back, Trevor. Certainly you will recall that Bryan questioned you shortly thereafter regarding your intentions as to Rebecca," and at Trevor's nod of affirmation, he proceeded, saying, "And you were certainly aware from the get go that Vanessa was chasing you obsessively," thereby prompting a second confirming nod.

"You, like an idiot, had no notion as to the enormity of Bryan's affection for Rebecca, despite Bryan's feeble attempt to convince you of such. Indeed, your rather callous treatment of him caused him serious injury, one that would later lead to retaliation on his part. For her part, Vanessa was smart enough to know that, if she wasn't already, Rebecca would eventually become serious competition for your affections.

"And so, when the second Halloween party rolled around the following year and Vanessa lost the dance competition to Rebecca yet again, Vanessa took action on that very night in an effort to preempt your escalating relationship with Rebecca. Spiriting you away from the party, Vanessa had her way with you in the woods in the hope that her wanton actions might redirect your attentions back towards her.

"But that was not to be. Although you and Rebecca did indeed break up due to your treatment of her that night, your feelings for each other were in no way diminished. This, of course, was quite evident to Bryan, who was still smarting both by Rebecca's rejection of him and your rather cavalier dismissal of his feelings for her the previous year. Bryan therefore determined to set a plan in motion, a plan that he hoped might drive an indelible wedge between you and Rebecca.

"And now we come to Miguel Guerrero, the most mysterious person in this whole mess. It seems that Miguel was actually born Miguel Guevara, a nephew of Che Guevara. Yes, I am speaking of the famous Che Guevara, the one who was executed by jointly by MI6 and the CIA in Bolivia in 1967. Miguel never got over the way his uncle had been put to death, and so he determined to obtain revenge. His family had serendipitously moved to Miami when he was a child, thereby giving him direct access to certain opportunities within the United States. He lived in Little Havana, where he was able to make contact with dissident Cubans opposed to Fidel Castro's communist regime. To make a long story short, he was eventually enrolled within their clandestine organization, whence he was assigned to shadow you, the son of the British Ambassador to the Unites States."

"What!" Trevor exclaimed, "You must be joking!"

"I assure you, it's true, as you will shortly see," Inspector Rush imparted.

Eyeing him doubtfully, Trevor responded, "Go ahead, Inspector. I'm all ears."

"Right," Inspector Rush continued, "So, because Miguel was an undercover agent, he had access to certain information. And in the course of his efforts, he discovered that Rebecca Carey was adopted at birth. Not only that, she was one of identical twins, her sister having been adopted by another family at birth."

Shaking his head in confusion, Trevor blurted, "You mean, Rebecca had a twin sister?"

"That's correct," Inspector Rush responded.

"But what's that got to do with anything?" Trevor inquired.

"Just bear with me," Inspector Rush replied, "So Miguel went searching for Rebecca's twin sister, and he found her. In fact, he and Bryan went to Fort Lauderdale for spring break in 1968, whereupon Rebecca's twin sister, her name is Sandra Wilhelm, was entered in an amateur striptease contest."

"This is ridiculous!" Trevor observed incredulously.

But at this, Sarah rejoined, "No, it's not, Trevor. Trust me, he's telling the truth."

"Tell me why I should believe this tripe, Sarah!"

"Because I've met her, that's why!"

"You met Rebecca's twin sister?" Trevor blurted in obvious shock.

"Yes, as a matter of fact, I just met her this very morning," Sarah responded.

"Well, I'll be..." Trevor murmured, "So tis really true..."

At this point Inspector Rush recommenced, saying, "So Miguel observed Bryan's obviously enchanted reaction at seeing an identical twin to the woman he had so recently become enamored with, and Miguel realized that the plan he had in mind just might have a chance of succeeding."

"And what plan was that, Inspector?"

"Patience, Trevor," Inspector Rush continued, "So Miguel's primary target was the CIA, but he had bigger plans in mind. He figured if he could compromise you, it would also compromise your father, the Ambassador to the U.S, thereby significantly undermining relations between the U.K. and the U.S. That then might provide further opportunities to infiltrate both MI6 and the CIA.

"Miguel now set out to place you in a position wherein you would be compromised. His associates in Little Havana informed him that Hernando Chavez had turned on Castro and assisted the CIA in capturing Che Guevara, although Fidel Castro was apparently unaware of such. So Miguel set out to kill two birds with one stone, and Chavez' downfall therefore became a part of his plan from the very start.

"Bryan, who had no idea what was going on, was duped by Miguel into becoming a part of the plan. Miguel was well aware that Bryan wanted to get even with you for stealing away Rebecca, whom he was deeply in love with. So Miguel arranged for Sandra to perform at the Lambda Xi house in Richmond, and he brought Bryan into the plan by convincing him that you would believe that it was Rebecca who had performed, thereby further driving a wedge between you and her. As you well know, that part of the plan went off swimmingly.

"Now we come to the birthday party on the yacht. Miguel convinced Bryan to inform you of the impending birthday party and, intent on substituting Sandra for Rebecca, he determined that Rebecca would not be around on that Saturday when you were to pick up Rebecca and take her to Washington. He then brought Bryan into the plan, but unbeknownst to Miguel, Bryan undermined Miguel's efforts and substituted Rebecca in Sandra's place. Sandra, who was completely unaware of either the plan or that she had a twin sister, was told by Bryan that the event had been postponed indefinitely.

"Unbeknownst to Bryan, Miguel's plan was to catch Hernando Chavez in the act of raping Sandra. To accomplish this, he asked Bryan to convince you to film her performance. For his part, Bryan was only interested in driving a wedge between you and Rebecca so that he might have a chance to rekindle his chances with her. However, he was also aware that Miguel had a larger plan in mind, and he therefore made sure that you filmed the show so that he did not get caught double-crossing Miguel.

"Finally, unbeknownst to either you or Bryan, Miguel had planned with Chavez to kill Sandra (who was secretly replaced by Rebecca), throw her over the side and blame you for murdering her in a jealous fit of rage. Miguel's plan was nearly a perfect one, but not quite.

"What went wrong?" Trevor queried.

At this Inspector Rush arched one eyebrow and continued, "Why, he could not have known that Rebecca would dive overboard and escape, of course."

"Amazing!" was all that Trevor could think of to say.

"To say the least," Inspector Rush agreed, "So it all went off as Miguel had planned, except that Rebecca did in fact dive overboard, whereupon she swam to shore and escaped. At first it appeared that Miguel's plan, though partially aborted, had worked sufficiently well to discredit you, but both Rebecca and Sandra managed to go into hiding so that no charges were brought against you.

"You also played a part in the failure of Miguel's plan when you failed to produce the film that was supposed to lead to Chavez' demise. Whatever your motives for doing so, they likely led to the murder of Miguel, who subsequently disappeared and has neither been seen nor heard from since. And that completes the events of that night on the yacht."

At this Trevor could only shake his head in confusion, thus encouraging Inspector Rush to continue with, "Now, we move on to the aftermath. As you are well aware, Rebecca succeeded in hiding in Baltimore for some time, after which she was placed within the witness protection program. I was able to locate Sandra around the same period of time, and I also placed her in the witness protection program, if for no other reason than the fact that she could be mistaken for Rebecca."

"How do you know all of this, Inspector?" Trevor interrupted.

"Wasn't easy, I'll tell you," Inspector Rush observed, "In fact, I was only able to confirm the last part yesterday."

"How so?"

"I had one of my agents meet with Sarah on the mall. The agent met with Sarah, ostensibly for a friendly chat, but in reality to ensure that Sarah was not part of Miguel's and Bryan's sinister plan. Anyway, the agent was wearing a wire, and during the course of the conversation, Sarah confirmed that Bryan had let slip to her his awareness that Rebecca had put on a performance in Richmond. So it was clear that Sarah was completely unaware that Rebecca had a twin sister.

"As a result, the clandestine meeting this morning confirmed something I've suspected all along – that Sarah was the one person I knew that could be trusted throughout this long and frustrating investigation," and, turning to her, Inspector Rush said, "Sarah, without your help, I doubt this case would have ever been solved. Thank you."

At this Sarah blushed and responded, "I can't take credit, Inspector. I was just trying to help my friends."

"Yes, well, you accomplished that objective. It's just too bad it hasn't turned out so well for you."

Now turning his attention back to the subject, Inspector Rush continued, "And now we come to you, Trevor. On the night of the birthday party on the yacht you had no idea what was about to transpire. Nonetheless, you bear a great deal of responsibility for having led Rebecca into that mess, and you compounded it via a plethora of reprehensible actions both that night and thereafter. I will not go into detail regarding these, for you surely know them well, but I would be remiss if I did not at least mention that your filming of the event was truly depraved," And pausing to frown in consternation at Trevor, he added, "Still, the film turned out to be the straw that broke the camel's back, as it were.

"But I digress. So shortly thereafter, you will recall that I summoned you back to Washington and, as you well know, I had your room searched for evidence of your wrongdoing. As I'm sure you are aware, the so-called 'scorecard' was the single piece of evidence that convinced me of your active involvement in the events of that night aboard the yacht. I don't mind telling you, that was the item that misled me for the longest time, but eventually I was able to determine that it was entirely bogus, having been both forged and planted in your room by a still-smarting Bryan. But when I discovered that part, I began to reconsider, contemplating other possibilities for the first time.

"And now we come to the part played by Vanessa. It seems that she was in fact not impregnated by you the night of the Halloween party. I found out recently of your marriage and her subsequent miscarriage from Sarah. Armed with this information, I went searching through a whole lot of medical and court records, and I was able to determine that there was no record of the miscarriage Vanessa claimed to have suffered in the spring of 1969."

"You're kidding!" Trevor whispered in dismay. "Why would she have done that?"

"Trevor, you haven't been listening to me! She seduced you to capture your affections, but then, seeing that it didn't work, she cooked up a fictitious pregnancy in hopes of blackmailing you into marrying her. Reasoning that you would be off at war when the ill-fated birth was to be expected, she had ample time to affect a cover-up of her deception."

"My God," Trevor whispered in obvious confusion.

"But there is more, Trevor. It seems that one of Vanessa's sorority sisters hailed from Baltimore. One day much later she came to Vanessa, swearing that she had seen Rebecca sitting on a park bench in front of the YWCA building in downtown Baltimore. At this point you were still in Vietnam and, intent upon protecting her interests, Vanessa drove to Baltimore, whereupon she confirmed her sorority sister's contention. Don't ask me how she came up with such a heinous plan, but she subsequently approached Hal Bernstein, owner of the Stafford Club, and convinced him that there was a gorgeous former exotic dancer living at the YWCA, and if he were to approach her, she might be persuaded to perform at his club."

"That's bizarre! What was the point of that?" Sarah interjected.

"Bizarre though it may be, during her interrogation yesterday afternoon, I was able to use the threat of indictment to coerce from her that she was simply trying to ensure that, should Rebecca ever turn up again, you wouldn't even consider pursuing her romantically, Rebecca by then having turned to a disreputable life. After all, Vanessa was by then aware from the newspapers that you were the heir to an Earldom."

"So, what will happen to Vanessa, Inspector?" Trevor inquired obliquely.

"Oh, nothing, I suppose," he responded, "I doubt that the DA will indict her. After all, she is little more than a jilted woman, albeit a highly unethical one. Anyway, back to our story. So Rebecca went to work at the Stafford Club, as you well know."

"Yes, Mimi confirmed that fact to me, although I never actually saw Rebecca perform."

At this Inspector Rush peered reproachfully at Trevor for a moment, then proffered, "And you never could have, for that matter."

"What! Why?" Trevor blurted.

"Because she never did, that's why," Inspector Rush observed, "Rebecca never performed in the Stafford Club. She was a table waitress, nothing more."

"Bollocks! I'm stunned..." Trevor stammered, "You're telling me that Rebecca was at no time an exotic dancer!"

"Yes, that is what I am telling you. Despite your suspicions to the contrary, Miss Carey is a young lady of the utmost character."

"Oh, my..." Trevor mumbled inanely.

Ignoring Trevor's reaction, Inspector Rush pressed on, positing, "And now we come to Bryan. So you and he came home from Vietnam shortly thereafter and, unfortunately for Bryan, his previous underhanded machinations caught up with him. Chavez' goons tracked him down and, threatening to expose his underhanded dealings, they blackmailed him into serving as their mole in Chavez' quest to locate Rebecca.

"Now comes the final thrust. You visited Wharton Manor for Christmas last year, and your prying sidekick Bryan visited with you. And guess who showed up as well – none other than the long-lost Rebecca. You will recall that Rebecca was initially somewhat receptive to your attempts to make amends, but for reasons unbeknownst to you she retracted the following morning.

"That, of course, was my doing. I was by then highly suspicious of Bryan and, upon hearing that he had travelled with you to England, I checked in with Rebecca's handler, William Farnsworth. He confirmed that Rebecca was at Wharton Manor, whereupon, despite the late hour in England, I immediately called the manor in a panic. Fortunately, I was able to reach Rebecca and I convinced her that she was in immediate mortal danger, thereby inducing her to depart the following morning. Farnsworth subsequently met up with her, whereupon she went into hiding. Bryan having been charged by Chavez to inform him of her whereabouts, she would otherwise doubtless be dead by now.

"And now we come to Rebecca's unfortunate part in this entirely sordid affair. Thusly informed of her imminent danger but not the reasons for it, Rebecca made the erroneous assumption that you, Trevor, were at the root of it. Accordingly, she slipped away from Agent Farnsworth two days later and, arranging to meet you within a London pub, she and her accomplices kidnapped you for the purpose of scaring the holy crap out of you. Perhaps in her own way, she believed that it might provide her with added protection. At any rate, while I cannot condone her actions, I have great admiration for her perspicacity throughout her lengthy demise. Rebecca Carey has proven to be a true survivor."

"I'll say," Sarah put in, adding, "That girl is my hero!"

"Mine, too," Trevor whispered, "Where is she, anyway, Inspector?"

"Unfortunately, I am not at liberty to say. Until the fallout from Chavez' death has settled, she must remain in the witness protection program," and so saying, he arose from his chair, thereby signaling an end to the meeting.

"Well, I must be going, you two," Inspector Rush now concluded, "Things to do, you know."

Reaching forward with his hand, Trevor whispered, "Thank you, Inspector. I shall be forever in your debt."

"As I am well aware, Trevor, and just so you will know, I intend to call in that debt."

"Oh? How so?" Trevor queried.

"All in good time, sir. All in good time," and so saying, he departed.

Washington – Spring, 1977

**The phone rang and, grabbing it hastily, Rebecca** exclaimed, "Is that you, Sarah?"

"Yes, of course. My, we _are_ in a hurry! How are, you Rebecca?"

"You tell me, Sarah. What did you find out? Tell me!"

"It seems you got it all right," Sarah volunteered, "It wasn't easy, but I managed. I had to get a couple of glasses of scotch down his gullet before I could weasel it out of him, though. It's all true. Working through his father, Lord Sutherland, Trevor got British Intel to blackmail Chavez. Once the money was handed over, they sent a copy of the tape to Fidel Castro. Apparently, he had Chavez assassinated."

"I thought so," Rebecca responded thoughtfully, "Wow! It still seems unbelievable, despite the fact that Trevor actually pulled it all off."

"Yeah, I can't believe it either. I do so adore him. Frankly, I thought for the longest time he was in love with you. I mean, for goodness sake, he didn't have sex for eight years, at least not until recently. That was ridiculous, even if he had been in love with you."

"What! He didn't have a relationship at all since I went into hiding? That's hard to believe, Sarah. And what's this about _until recently_?"

"I'm afraid I shouldn't say," Sarah demurred, "Besides, when's the last time you had a romp in the hay?"

"That's different," Rebecca responded flatly.

"Yeah, right. Tell me about it..."

"No, seriously, I've been really busy."

"Listen, Rebecca, nobody is that busy, at least not for eight years. Are you telling me that you've never slept with anyone?"

"That's about the size of it."

"Well, doesn't that beat all. Well, listen, you should have some fun now that you're out of the witness protection program, and rich to boot! I certainly plan to."

"Yeah...right..." Rebecca stammered morosely, "I'll call dial-a-guy right away!"

Wharton Manor – May, 1977

**Trevor and Sarah turned the Rolls into the long driveway.** The flight over had been depressing, the thought that his mother might be dying being overwhelming to Trevor. She had been his rock, even during the times when she had refused to speak to him. She had always been the force that drove him. How would he live without her?

They arrived at the front door, and before they had time to descend from the Rolls, there was Smithers, tugging the car door open for him.

Seeing him, Trevor exclaimed, "Smithers! How are you?"

"Excellent, sir," he replied.

"And how is my mother?"

"I believe she is recuperating, sir, but you will have to ask for yourself."

"Oh, I say, that is good news, Smithers!" And at that he turned and introduced Sarah.

"It is a pleasure to meet you, Sarah," Smithers responded stiffly.

They entered the great hall, and there awaiting them was Lord Sutherland. Trevor embraced his father and inquired, "How is she, father?"

"I am happy to say, I believe she shall make a full recovery, Trevor."

At this, Trevor let out a long breath, exclaiming, "Good Lord, what a relief. I was seriously worried. Under such circumstances, one dreams up all sorts of horrors on the long flight over."

"Yes, I can imagine. But it's all better now, and we can have a pleasant weekend together. I shall take care of everything, as your mother is not quite up to managing the manor at the moment."

"Under the circumstances, that sounds for the better. I shall help Sarah get settled in, and then I shall see mother. Where is she?"

"At the moment she is resting in her boudoir. I shall rouse her and tell her that you are here. She should be in the sitting room within the hour."

"Excellent. We shall see you there shortly, father."

An Hour Later

**Lounging within her favorite chair, Lady Felicité Sutherland** awaited the arrival of her guests. She was, of course, completely recovered. In point of fact, she had not been ill to begin with. Shortly thereafter, Trevor and Sarah entered the room, whereupon Trevor took a moment with his mother, in the process ensuring that she was indeed well. Thereafter, he introduced Sarah to Lady Sutherland.

"I'm so happy to meet you, my dear," Lady Sutherland volunteered, "Trevor has told me so much about you. I feel as if I already know you."

"Thank you, Lady Sutherland, and I you," Sarah responded.

"Please, call me Felicité," and at that, she gave Sarah a sly wink. Then, turning to Trevor, she said, "So, Trevor, I know the general gist of things, but if you will, take me through the finer details. What exactly transpired all those years ago?"

At this, Trevor frowned and responded patiently, "Yes, of course, mother." He then gathered his thoughts for a moment and, clearing his throat as a preamble, he launched into it, "So, as you well know, Rebecca was born one of identical twins. That seems to be the starting point of the whole mess. Rebecca's sister, one Sandra Wilhelm, grew up in less than happy circumstances. As a result, she grew to hate her adoptive parents, eventually seeking vengeance upon them by becoming a stripper.

"As you well know, I went off to UVa in 1966, and in the process I made friends with Miguel Guerrero and Bryan Highsmith. Miguel, having been the nephew of Che Guevara, set out to gain vengeance against Hernando Chavez, who had supplied information to the CIA as to Guevara's whereabouts in Bolivia. In addition, Miguel used me as a means of gaining vengeance against the U.K. and the CIA for having executed Guevara. For his part, Bryan attempted to gain vengeance against me for having stolen his would-be paramour – none other than Rebecca Carey.

"Next we come to Vanessa Markham. She attempted on no less than two occasions to gain vengeance against Rebecca Carey, who had stolen the apple of her eye from her grasp, meaning myself. Now we come to Rebecca Carey. She attempted to gain vengeance against me for my supposed part in the events at the birthday party aboard the yacht. And finally, we come to yours truly. I attempted to gain vengeance against Rebecca Carey for her supposed performance in Richmond."

At this Lady Sutherland raised one eyebrow and observed, "So, if I understand correctly, everyone in this sad tale was seeking vengeance against someone else."

"Yes, mother, I am afraid you are quite correct," Trevor responded diffidently.

"So, what do you plan to do about it, Trevor?"

Eyeing her precariously, he responded, "Don't think that I've forgotten what you told me all those years ago, mother. Because I can assure you, I remember every word precisely as you put it to me."

At this Felicité glared momentarily at her son and then posited, "Alright, I shall accept that response," and pausing for a moment, she suddenly added, "Trevor, don't ask me what he wants, but your father has asked me to have you meet him on the tennis court. He tells me that the court has some structural damage, or something to that effect, and he wants your best engineering advice regarding the repairs. Would you mind, dear? I shall entertain Sarah until you return."

"Not at all, mother. I doubt that I know anything at all regarding the structural characteristics of tennis courts, but I shall endeavor to provide aide and be back within a few minutes."

After his departure, Sarah volunteered, "That was masterful, Felicité. I believe that our plan is going off perfectly. And if it succeeds, Inspector Rush will be pleased to know that Trevor's debt to him has been paid in full."

"We shall see about that, all in good time. Now, I suggest that we take a seat. This may in fact require quite some time."

On the Tennis Court

**Wandering through the trees, Trevor could make out** his father on the tennis court, hands behind his back, pacing to and fro. Wondering exactly what had gone wrong with the court, he supposed that he was about to find out. Arriving at the gate, he called out, "Sir, mother says you wanted to see me? What seems to be the problem?"

Seeing his son, Lord Sutherland came towards him, announcing pompously, "Well, this is only my opinion, mind you..." this pronouncement that had always piqued Trevor having been somehow appropriated by his father from his own mother, his interest immediately intensified.

His father then continued with, "But it seems to me that this battle needs to be nipped in the bud. Accordingly, your mother and I, along with our fellow conspirators, have decided to 'take the bull by the horns', as the saying goes. I confess to never having quite understood what that saying means, but there it is nonetheless."

"Father, what on earth are you babbling about?" Trevor inquired in stupefaction. In all his life he had never heard his own father blather thusly.

"Patience, Trevor, patience. I'm getting to the heart of the matter. Your mother and I quite agree that it is high time to put an end to the conflict, and what better place than within a field of battle. So you see, the setting seems infinitely appropriate."

Still completely baffled and by now even aggravated by his father's somewhat ludicrous circumlocution, Trevor could only await clarification.

"And you will recall, many years ago, when you were but a boy, your mother took you on a trip across the Channel and visited the battlefield at Verdun."

"Yes, father, how could I forget that trip. But what has it to do with this moment?"

"Patience! I am quite getting there, however tortuously. You must bear with me. Now, where was I? Ah, yes, Verdun. Two months back, your mother determined that the battle had reached a critical stage. As for my part, on reflection I concurred with her that her suggested course of action was indeed proper. Your mother therefore accorded your combatant the same excursion that you and she shared so many years ago."

"What? Combatant? Excursion?" And by now it was quite clear that to Trevor everything was entirely unclear.

"I'm sorry, I'm afraid I'm making a mess of it. Let me start over. Son, your mother took Miss Rebecca Carey on a visit to Verdun."

"What!" Trevor uttered incredulously. Suddenly at a complete loss for words, he eventually regained his senses, inquiring, "For God's sake, why, father?"

"Right. Of course, I knew you would ask that. See here, Trevor, something simply had to be done. The battle simply would not abate, the combatants seemingly unable to overcome their mutual quest for vengeance, a vengeance that was quite uncalled for, I might add."

"Combatants? Are we talking about The Great War? What has that got to do with Rebecca Carey, father?"

"No, we are most certainly NOT talking about the Battle of Verdun. We are at this juncture speaking about the decade long Battle of Trevor and Rebecca."

Shocked senseless at this revelation, Trevor could only lower his head forlornly, aware for the first time that his parents were somehow cognizant of his predicament. Thenceforth, finding the energy to raise his eyes, he murmured softly, "I see, father. Yes, I quite understand."

"Excellent. I had hoped that you would. I have therefore taken the liberty of inviting Miss Carey here today. Trevor, I now command you to enter into peace talks with your adversary. What say you?"

Mouth agape in utter shock, Trevor muttered, "Under the circumstances, your wish is my command, sir."

"Right! Now, I have of course assured her that she is here strictly under the Sutherland flag of truce. No combat of any sort whatsoever shall be tolerated by either your mother or myself, other than tennis, of course. Am I understood?"

"Yes, sir, I understand."

"Excellent, now take this item and dispose of it properly. I'm sure you shall know how to deal with it at the proper time," and so saying, he thrust the item within Trevor's hand.

Gazing downward at the item Trevor recognized it immediately for what it was and, gaping in confusion at his father, he inquired, "What have you gotten me into, sir?"

"You shall see soon enough. Now, if you will excuse me, I shall fetch the opposing combatant."

"What, is she already here, at Wharton Manor?"

"Yes, of course," the now departing Lord Sutherland called over his shoulder, adding from afar, "And Trevor, remember what your mother told you at Verdun all those years ago. I trust you do recall?"

"Yes, sir, indeed I do."

Within moments Trevor could see the pair of them, coming through the trees toward the court. They each wore a white sundress and a broad woven hat that protected the sun's rays from their identical exquisite milk-colored skin. Both sundresses had images of tiny red poppies woven into a pattern along each of the extremities – the necklines, the sleeves, and the hems. Each one's shoulder length hair was a deep brown tint that was accentuated by the long graceful waves that cascaded from beneath their sunhats.

Seeing them thus, Trevor blinked, rubbed his eyes and, shaking his head, he attempted to recall some distant memory. But under the current circumstances all was fleeting as momentarily, the two of them arrived at the court.

Approaching him from the far corner, they called simultaneously, "I'm so sorry, Trevor."

Still befuddled by the enormity of the morning's events, he inquired, "Why ever for, Rebecca, Sandra?

One said, "We didn't plan this."

The other followed with, "It was your mother's doing, of course."

The first then added, "She was not to be denied."

"What? Plan what? What on earth are you talking about?"

One said, "The truce, of course."

At this he blurted, "What truce?"

The other said, "The one we two have been commanded to ratify by your mother and father."

"Alright, fair enough," Trevor sighed woefully, "I'm listening."

"But first you must choose," one responded.

"If I must," he replied woefully.

"You must," the other responded.

He eyed the two of them momentarily and, realizing that there was no physical way of distinguishing, he signed, "I—A-D-O-R-E-Y-O-U, R-E-B-E-C-C-A C-A-R-E-Y."

The one simply smiled, and the other replied, "And I you, Trevor Sutherland."

At this, he strode forward and, sweeping the pair of them into a collective embrace, he announced, "It is indeed wonderful to see the two of you together!"

"Thank you," Sandra replied, "And now, I think that I should leave you two to resolve your differences," and so saying she turned to make her departure from the tennis court, but Trevor caught her arm within his grasp.

Turning back towards him, she heard him say, "It was you, wasn't it, Sandra – when I was in the hospital – _it was you_!"

Suppressing an impish grin, she admitted, "Yes, _of course_ it was."

"How'd you know I was there?"

"Oh, it wasn't difficult. Once I figured out what was going on between the two of you, I began keeping up with you both. The list of wounded is a matter of public record, you know. So I found out where they took you, and I went to see you. I'm sorry I misled you into thinking I was Rebecca."

"Sandra, dear Sandra – thank you!"

"Thank you, for what?" she blurted.

"You have no idea how much seeing you did for me. It rekindled everything I felt for Rebecca."

"I know exactly what you mean, Trevor. When I saw the look in your eyes, I could see how you felt about her. And you know what, it made me love my sister, even though I'd never even met her."

At this he nodded his agreement, but then queried, "Why did you come to the hospital?"

"There is no way you could understand, I'm afraid. When one has a sister one has never met, a _twin_ sister no less, one becomes desperate to be with her. I of course could not be with my sister without risking capture or worse for the both of us. But there was one person that I could see, one person that I was certain would make me feel the warmth of my sister. And I was right, Trevor, because that person was you. The look in your eyes that day in the hospital kept me going all those years, until I could finally see my other self for my own self." And, having said this, she added, "Now, end this battle, so we can get on with it!" and with that she turned and departed.

After she'd gone he turned to Rebecca and posited, "My, she's quite lovely, Rebecca. You are indeed fortunate."

"Yes, isn't she," Rebecca observed, "She's had a hard life. I've taken steps to ensure that she shall never incur such difficulties again."

"Oh?" he responded, "How so?"

"I split the money with her."

His eyes opening wide in surprise, he posited, "Why am I not surprised?"

"She does after all deserve it, don't you think, Trevor?"

"Oh, absolutely! And you, Rebecca, what is it that you deserve?"

At this she paused and, biting her lip for a moment, she undertook the initial step, "First, I owe you an apology..."

"You don't owe me an..."

She interrupted, "Just hear me out, Trevor. I do indeed owe you an apology. I had to have my vengeance, and I certainly got it. Until then, I had the upper hand. Well, now I've lost it, and I don't mind telling you, I don't like it one bit."

"Upper hand? What upper hand, Rebecca?"

"Trevor, for seven years, I was the perfect maligned martyr, mistreated by you, forced into hiding. When one is on the side of right, one can indulge in a certain degree of smug superiority, the accompanying misery notwithstanding. But when one takes vengeance, the side of right is sacrificed and lost."

At this she halted to ensure that he was following and, observing his attention had in no way wavered, she subsequently announced, "In my quest for retribution, I descended to the side of wrong. And all the while, you were ascending from the side of wrong, regaining your self-respect, as well as that of others."

He eyed her silently, clearly understanding, but nonetheless as yet uncertain as to where this was all leading.

She stepped two paces toward him and offered, "Trevor, I apologize. Please accept my deepest apology. I know I hurt you when I kidnapped you. It was childish of me. It is the most deplorable act of my entire existence. Believe me when I say this – I have learned from my act of vengeance, and what I have learned is that no vengeance is just. I promise, I shall never wreak revenge on you again, not ever."

Searching for just the right words, he replied, "Rebecca, thank you. Of course, I accept your apology. And for my part, I apologize to you as well."

He then paused for a moment, gaging her reaction. Abruptly, he thrust forward an object within her hand, saying, "This belongs to you, Rebecca."

Eyeing it in confusion, she inquired, "What is it?"

"Tis the movie..." he murmured doubtfully.

Her eyes widening, she murmured, "Oh, God! I don't want that!"

"Yes, I thought you'd say that. Shall we destroy it, as a symbol of our mutual agreement to put an end to our conflict? After all, tis the last remaining trace of the horrendous events of that night long ago."

"Yes, of course," she muttered, and so saying, she tossed it to the ground and gave it a good stomping.

"Good job," he offered, and stepping forward, he added his own weight to the offensive item.

After a moment, she stepped back, drew a solitary finger to one eye and, wiping away an escaping tear, she whispered, "You, sir have somehow become my hero, and though I am certain I have sought this truce far too late, I shall remember your acts of compassion and kindness for the rest of my life." And with this last pronouncement, she turned and strode away.

Rooted in uncertainty, he stood transfixed by the enormity of the moment, but then, momentarily coming to his senses, he called to her receding figure, "Too late? Too late for what, Rebecca?"

Turning and facing him, she posited somberly, "It's not for me to say."

At this declaration he caught her gaze with his eyes and, holding her gaze, he took a single hopeful step toward her, commanding, "Don't be evasive, Rebecca. Answer my question: too late for what?"

Held captive within his gaze, she choked out the words forlornly, "Too late for us," and at this she hoisted her hand to her mouth in a gesture of futility and sobbed, "Oh, God! I've lost you!"

"Lost? To what, may I ask?"

"Are you not engaged to Sarah?" she whispered doubtfully.

"Of course not!"

"What? She told me you were engaged. She said you'd had her in bed. _She came with you to Wharton Manor_!"

"I'm afraid you misunderstood," he replied tenderly, "Bryan was her fiancé, not I."

"Then you're not in love with her?"

"No, Rebecca."

"But why?"

"You of all people should know, Rebecca, because my heart and soul belong to another."

At this, she gasped and, staring skyward, she begged, "Please, do not play with my heartstrings, Trevor Sutherland!"

Reaching her side in three brisk strides, he drew her tenderly within his protective embrace, whispering, "Dear, dear lovely Rebecca, there is no other. Indeed, there can be no other. It was and is, and always shall be – you. You, Rebecca, are the love of my life."

"And you mine, you jerk."
Epilogue

**When I was ten years old** my mother took me on a road trip to Verdun, explaining to me that there was a lesson to be learned there. Standing on the imposing battlefield that took the lives of seven hundred thousand soldiers, she claimed that there was a hidden message contained therein.

As the years passed, my mother's words slowly receded from my consciousness. For my part, I grew much too intent on the path to self-destruction, one that I navigated quite successfully, I might add.

It was only much later, after the traumatic events that occurred on a yacht on the Potomac that I began to search for the meaning underlying my mother's lesson to me that day. With time, I became more and more convinced that my redemption for the heinous error of my youth lay hidden within the human remains of a battlefield in Northern France.

And so it was that Rebecca came slowly back into my life, and then and only then did I realize that the real battle lay not on a military battlefield, but rather, somewhere within my own self. You see, I had fought and continued to fight a war with Rebecca and she with me, and here is the worst part of all – neither one of us had the slightest notion what the battle was about, but fight we did nevertheless for close onto a decade of our lives.

Sadly, I came to the realization that there was no escape from the battlefield unless and until my combatant was herself prepared to show compassion. Accordingly, my ultimate redemption lay in the hands of one who would likely never call a truce. And so it was that my mother's words on a long-forgotten battlefield afforded me the greatest gift of my life - the gift of my redemption.

***~~~***

### About the Author

**D. Allen Henry** is a freelance writer who is also the author of _Hawk Banks_ , _Those Who Fought for Us_ , _Of War and Women, My Father the God, Finding Patience, Merging Destiny_ and _Galileo's Lost Message_. The author welcomes comments regarding any of his novels. His website is located at <http://dayhahaha.wix.com/dallenhenry>, and his Facebook address is <https://www.facebook.com/dallen.henry> . Should you so desire, you may provide feedback to the following e-mail address: dallenhenry@hotmail.com. If you enjoyed _Enlisting Redemption_ , please be so kind as to provide a review of it on the website from which you acquired this book.
Novels by

D. Allen Henry

**Hawk Banks** **– Founding Texas** (revised edition) – © 2014

Pairing up with Texas frontiersman Hank MacElrae, the inimitable Bostonian Hawk Banks sets off in quest of adventure on the Plains of Texas. A distinctly incompatible pair, the two manage to make their unlikely friendship work and, enduring all manner of unlikely events, they succeed in finding their way into the heart of Texas, becoming founding fathers of a new nation.

https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/448831

The Sutherland Saga

**Part I: Those Who Fought for Us** – © 2015

On the eve of World War I, Elizabeth Turnberry and her friend Margaret MacCreedy meet fellow students Robert Sutherland and Alastair Stewart in a pub in Edinburgh. And, although the future seems bright, the outbreak of war in the summer of 1914 will destroy all their hopes and dreams. Is there hope at all for those who fought for us?

https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/535009

**Part II: Of War and Women** – © 2015

On the eve of the Battle of Britain a farewell party is held for the 93rd Squadron at Wharton Manor, and though World War II will subsequently intervene, events of that night will echo down through history, changing the lives of those present forever. Unfairly maligned, one woman will persevere, but for all her accomplishments, will Felicité succeed?

https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/536530

**Part III: Enlisting Redemption** – © 2015

When twenty-one year old college student Trevor Sutherland enlists Rebecca Carey in a birthday party performance, it leads to a heinous crime. Her subsequent disappearance will ultimately send Trevor on a decade long quest for redemption, one fraught with intrigue, deception, and ultimately murder.

https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/540538

**Part IV: Finding Patience** – © 2015

When Patience Walker is kidnapped on a cold winter's night, her life is changed forever. Having met her on that very day, Brandt MacCauley takes on the challenge of finding her. Spanning fifteen years, his quest will not only change both of their lives, it will ultimately alter the course of history.

https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/543390

**Part V: My Father the God** – © 2015 (sequel to Those Who Fought for Us)

Having completed his first year at Hanford University, Scotsman Sloan Stewart begins the summer of 1941 working at The Orchard Inn with his friends James, Isolde and Sabrina. But entanglements inevitably lead to a shocking event, one that will transform each of them irrevocably through war, peace, and ultimately, the remainder of their lives. Can they ever surmount the errors of their youth?

https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/538259

**Part VI: Merging Destiny** \- © 2016

When Elspeth Moorehead's parents are killed in the Lockerbie bombing, Elspeth vows that she will someday avenge their horrendous murder. Her promise evolves into the quest of a lifetime, carrying her across continents and cultures, in the process subjecting her to numerous perilous obstacles. But, being a woman borne of exceptional intelligence and willpower, Elspeth may just be up to the challenge. Spanning a quarter of a century, her exploits will not only subject her to hurdles she could never have dreamed of, they will change the world.

**Galileo's Lost Message -** © 2016

An intricate mystery for those interested in the history of science. When Contessa Antonietta Floridiana telephones Professor Paul Woodbridge, she asks, "Suppose Galileo wrote a secret encoded message at the end of his life. Would the professor perhaps be able to decode it?" The quest for the solution to Galileo's Lost Message will lead the pair on a search that will alter the course of history.

https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/624146
Sneak Peek

Finding Patience

By

D. Allen Henry

Prologue

**You may ask** how I could have lived through the experiences recounted herein and not have perceived the momentous events that were unfolding. For my part, I can only say that one must live life before one can comprehend life.

I was born in 1971 in Edinburgh, Scotland. Growing up in Edinburgh was profoundly monochromatic, especially in winter. Anyone who has ever been there will know immediately what I mean by this. The central part of the city was constructed from brownstone quarried from the adjacent volcanic hills in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries and, with the advent of automobiles in the twentieth century, pollution has deposited a layer of still darker soot on every exterior surface possible. As a result, Edinburgh has become in wintertime the artist's dream for anyone who paints exclusively in tints of grey.

The winter I turned twelve my dad was injured. He worked at the rail yard in the city. I don't know exactly what happened to him, but he was hurt pretty badly. His recuperation required bed rest for several months and, although I didn't know it at the time, he would eventually pass away five years thereafter from complications caused by his injury.

That winter I was sent to stay with my Aunt Winnie Sutherland in Stirling, thereby allowing my mother to cope with the extra burden of caring for my dad. Although I was not happy about that, there was a small silver lining – that was the first time that I experienced a winter away from Edinburgh.

To be sure, the winter climate in Stirling was cold and dark as much so as it was in Edinburgh, but unlike Edinburgh, in Stirling the surrounding countryside crept right up to the city. It was so close that you could see right out into the hills from the walls of Stirling Castle. And on a clear day, you could even see all the way to the river, where Scotland was born on September 11, 1297. So this was my first adventure, and my memories of that winter remain sharp and clear after more than thirty years.

Aunt Winnie was old, or so it seemed to me. In retrospect, I suppose that she really wasn't. She was in fact close to the same age that I am now, but the significance of time is quite beyond the comprehension of children.

As I recall, the weather one winter day was so horrid that Auntie Winnie forbade me to even set foot outside. As I had not yet learned the virtue of patience, spending the entire day indoors with an elderly person was nearly unendurable for a boy of twelve. Although I did my absolute best to pass the time of day constructively, I failed miserably, succeeding only in creating a nuisance for Aunt Winnie. For her part, she attempted valiantly to appear unfazed by my hyperactive antics.

At one point, plowing inanely through foodstuffs in her kitchen, I came upon a tiny ladybug. Determined to evict it from our toasty abode, I was certain that Aunt Winnie would appreciate my efforts to protect the sanctity of our small place in the world.

But Aunt Winnie announced sternly, "No, Brandtie, that simply won't do. Our visitor, though uninvited, has a place just as we do in our world, and you must respect that place. If you were to cast it out on a horrid day such as this, what do you think its fate would be?"

Realization sweeping over me that I had not gotten that far in my thinking, I replied, "I am quite certain I have no idea."

"It would have most assuredly perished, my dear boy. And had it done so, it could not have born offspring, and those offspring would therefore not have been able to combat and defeat the vicious spider that is perhaps lurking within the cupboard. And that spider would then have survived and possibly eventually bitten someone, perchance even you, thus causing great pain, misery, and possibly even death!"

Peering at her in momentary horror, I speculated dismissively, "I may be only twelve, but I am grown up quite enough to know that your story is highly unlikely, Auntie."

"Quite so, my boy," she responded pleasantly, "But compassion should not be bestowed on the basis of anticipated outcome. Rather, it is the principle of compassion itself that is paramount."

Scratching my head in confusion, I stammered, "I...I don't understand...what principle?"

"Brandtie, my child," she began, "There are seven deadly sins, but there is only one immortal virtue – compassion. Patience is the parent of compassion, and compassion is borne within the heart."

Still mystified, I responded, "I still don't understand, Auntie Winnie."

"My dear boy, you clearly showed compassion by attempting to put the ladybug outside. Otherwise, you should have simply squashed it. But had you also shown patience, you would have understood that placing the bug outside was ultimately without compassion, for it would surely have perished in the maelstrom without."

That then was the first lesson I learned from Aunt Winnie. I was to spend parts of every winter with Auntie Winnie until I went off to college seven years later, in the process learning much of life from her. But the lesson that I learned on that day was the most important lesson she ever taught me. And now, thirty years on, here is my story, the story of what I learned from Aunt Winnie.
Chapter 1

Spinning the Web

Lincoln, Nebraska – October, 1996

**In those days,** a magical transformation swept over the central plains of North America each autumn. The wheat and corn by then harvested, the farmers were flush with cash. The winter weather having not quite set in, the promise of the reunion of families at Thanksgiving was on the minds of everyone. The trees abruptly turning to shades of burnished orange and deep crimson, they somehow harkened the coming of Christmas, that time of year that was devoted to the renewed commitment to moral principles.

Sometimes, the silent cascade of an early snowfall would gently settle on the soon to be hibernating verdure, leaving a distinct impression that the world was indeed fashioned from the whimsy of a being of supreme benevolence. Such sanguine vistas, like a poorly preserved Da Vinci masterpiece, have lately begun to slowly fade with the passage of time. With the hastened pace of our modern existence, the commitment by the human race to common human decency has slowly but inexorably grown sadly uncommon.

On this day, Patience regarded herself in her bedroom mirror. Having just turned twenty, she was at an age of profound fear and uncertainty. Unbeknownst to her, she was endowed with an exquisite appearance. Although her soft and feminine features were in keeping with her introverted nature, she was nonetheless strikingly tall. And the combination of her pale green eyes, accented by her jet black hair and pale complexion, gave her a distinct air of elegance and sincerity.

Still happily ensconced within that first phase of life when parents are taken for granted, Patience was yet oblivious to the reality that they will not be there forever. Thus, given the surrealistic scene outside her window, Patience's naive sensation that all was right with the world was a completely natural perception. She could not have known that it was fleeting, rushing away from her reality at a breathtaking speed that would soon test her convictions to their very foundation.

"Patience," her mother called to her, "Time to get up, dear."

"Yes, mother, I'm awake. I was just glancing out the window at the snowfall. It's so peaceful."

"Yes, dear, I know, but there is no time for that now. We must go and visit your father in the hospital. Now, please get ready to go."

"Yes, mother," she replied offhandedly.

The drive to the hospital was horrendous, the traffic creeping along at a near standstill. It seemed that each year the populace somehow misplaced their driving skills with the arrival of the first snowfall. Convinced that they would have done better to walk to the hospital, mother and daughter arrived unharmed but nonetheless exasperated by the less than welcome adventure they had just survived.

Shortly thereafter Patience pushed her way into her father's room, exclaiming, "Good morning, Daddy," and, leaning forward to give him an affectionate embrace, she inquired, "How are you feeling today?"

"Just fine," he lied, "What's it like outside, Patience? I hear it snowed last night." Patience's mother followed and, silently embracing her husband, she patiently awaited the completion of his conversation with the pride of his life.

"It's just gorgeous, Daddy. Well, except for the traffic, that is. I love it when it snows this time of year, because it all melts within a single day. That way you don't have three months of ghastly brownish snow mountains that only grow larger and more repulsive with the passage of time."

"Yes, dear, I couldn't agree more," he commented and, turning toward his wife, he requested, "Brenda dear, would you mind going down to the cafeteria to get me a cup of coffee? I've been waiting for two hours for them to bring my breakfast."

"Certainly, dear. I'll be back in a few minutes," she replied, promptly departing the room in her newfound quest.

Her mother having left them to it, Patience asked, "So what gives, Daddy?"

"What do you mean, Patience?" he asked in apparent confusion.

"Don't fool around with me - I saw the breakfast tray on the floor outside the door. You've already eaten breakfast."

At this, he smiled and replied, "There never was any fooling you, my dear. I could tell it when you were two years old. Even then, those pale green eyes of yours were a dead giveaway – the little girl with the grownup awareness."

Listening patiently to his attempt to distract her, she responded pointedly, "Good try, Dad, but I'm onto your ways. Give it up."

"Okay," he replied and, heaving a sigh of acceptance, he proceeded with, "I just wanted to talk to you alone for a few minutes."

Her suspicions now confirmed, Patience replied doubtfully, "Ok-kay..."

"Dear, please promise me that you will take care of your mom if anything happens to me, okay?"

"Why? Nothing's going to happen to you, Daddy."

"Oh, just promise your old dad, okay? You know I wouldn't steer you wrong."

"Whatever, Daddy," she replied dismissively, "I promise."

Gazing steadfastly at her, he announced, "My dear, you remember what I've always told you - that the true meaning of life is love."

"Yes, Daddy, of course I remember," she responded, perplexed as to why he was acting so maudlin today.

At that moment her mom walked in with the sought-after cup of coffee and inquired, "So what have the two of you been up to while I was gone?"

"Oh, nothing," her husband replied, "Just chatting idly about the weather, dear."

It was the last conversation that Patience ever had with her father - he died two days later.

Las Vegas – February 1997

**The trio sat together at a table in the corner,** well removed from the other patrons within the bar. One of them was dressed completely in white, his black-banded white headdress identifying him as Middle Eastern.

Leaning forward to one of his associates, he inquired, "Is everything in place, Wassim?"

"Yes, sir, it's all completed and ready to go."

"Are the explosives already prepared?"

"Yes, sir, just as you directed."

"So all we need do is deliver the package..." he murmured to himself, adding, "Alright, Wassim, I believe all is prepared. Meet me at the airport tomorrow morning at 7 A.M."

Wassim and Navid responded simultaneously, "Yes, sir," and so saying, the trio clinked their glasses together.

Lincoln, Nebraska – The Same Day

**Patience inched her car** out of the driveway, slowly testing the slickness of the icy roadway. It was a beautiful sunny day in Lincoln. An overnight cold front had dropped two inches of blowing snow and quickly moved on. Unlike most mornings, on this day she was on the way to visit her mother in the hospital. It seemed like it had only been a few days since she had visited her father in the selfsame hospital, three winter months having already raced by.

The previous day Patience's mother had quite suddenly fallen down. Fortunately, Patience had been at home at the time and, pouring her mother into her aging 1984 Pontiac, she had raced to the hospital.

The doctors had insisted on keeping her overnight for tests. Under the circumstances, Patience had been forced to wait out the night at home alone, something that she was not accustomed to doing. She had so wanted to live on campus at the university but, her father's passing having laid all hopes of that dream to rest, there simply wasn't enough money.

Now in her third year at Nebraska, this unexpected development with her mother terrified her. What if, due to her health, her mom was unable to work? The money that Patience made working part time on campus being woefully inadequate, her college education would come to a screeching halt.

She thought about her studies for a moment. Dr. Rohani had been very kind to take her into his study group. The other students, each and every one of them brilliant graduate students, filled her with a profound sense of insecurity. With so many smart people in the world, she wondered how on earth she would ever be able to complete a degree in computer science. But her adoration for the discipline was so strong that she was determined to somehow gut it out. And perhaps, if she could learn enough along the way, she might even be able to get involved in something useful, something that might even change the world.

Lincoln wasn't quite in the Midwest, more like in the plains, but the values were there – strong Midwest scruples. There was a strong sense of commitment to family, a universal belief that everyone has an equal chance to succeed. Patience was committed to working hard, confident in her heart of hearts that she would one day find success.

Still, despite the unusually gorgeous weather this morning, on this day her happy future looked to be little more than a distant dream, casting a pall over her usually sunny disposition. Arriving at the hospital, she quickly went straight to her mother's room. Finding her hospital room unoccupied, she felt a sudden ominous pang. Rushing to the nurses' station, she inquired stridently to no one in particular, "Where's my mother? She's supposed to be in room 232."

Emerging from behind a half-open door, a nurse responded pleasantly, "Oh, she's okay, miss. They're just doing some tests at the moment. She should be back within the hour. You can wait in her room or, if you want, there's a cafeteria on the first floor."

Breathing a sigh of relief, Patience thanked her and decided to try the latter option. Having breakfasted lightly, she was back at her mother's room a short time later. Finding the room still empty, she stepped into the hallway. Seeing her, the nurse promptly came towards her, exclaiming, "Oh, there you are. The doctor came by. He wanted to talk to you. I'll call him. Can you wait here, miss?"

"Sure," Patience replied, fear suddenly driving her heart into her throat yet again.

Shortly thereafter a middle-aged bald-headed man came walking down the hallway towards her, his white coat and stethoscope visibly announcing his profession. As he approached her he made eye contact, inquiring solemnly, "Are you Miss Walker?"

"Yes," she replied and, his excessively serious demeanor distressing to her, she inquired, "Is something wrong?"

"Your mother is resting comfortably at the moment, Miss Walker. I'm Doctor Matthews. Could we step into her room for a chat? Please, this way," and, touching her elbow sympathetically, he guided her within.

Once inside, he suggested politely, "Please, sit down Miss Walker." Paling noticeably at this, Patience dropped into the lone chair within. Coming directly to the point, he posited, "I'm afraid that I do not have good news for you. Tests show that your mother has severe heart disease. Because she was experiencing considerable angina last night, we took some X-rays this morning and, I'm afraid that unless she has replacement surgery within the next few weeks, she will not survive."

By this point in a state of shock, Patience found herself asking, "Replacement? Replace what, Doctor Matthews?"

"Why, her heart, of course. I assure you, Miss Walker, there is no alternative at this point."

Her mind now racing, Patience inquired, "I'm sorry to be so crass at a time like this, Dr. Matthews, but how much does a heart transplant cost?"

"It depends on quite a few factors - at least twenty thousand dollars. Still, I wouldn't worry, Miss Walker. Your insurance will cover most of the cost."

Her shoulders slumping in dejection, she replied, "I'm afraid that we have no insurance, doctor. We lost it when my father passed away three months ago."

"Oh, my, that is indeed troublesome. Are there any family savings? Or perhaps significant property value in your home?"

"We rent," Patience replied flatly. "No, there is no family money at all. Expenses associated with my father's cancer consumed what little savings we had. I'm afraid that my mother and I are alone and quite poor. I am barely scraping my way through college at the moment."

"Alright, I see," Doctor Matthews replied pensively. He contemplated a moment and offered reassuringly, "Don't you worry about that at the moment. Just give your mother all the love and support that you can. I will inform the hospital administration, and they will look into alternatives for financing a heart transplant."

"Thank you, doctor," Patience replied politely, but her mind was already spinning out of control in abject fear and uncertainty.

"You rest easy, Miss Walker. We'll take good care of your mother. One of the nurses will take you to her new room if you check in at the nurse's station. We have transferred her to intensive care." Having said this, he subsequently left her alone to contemplate this new crisis.

Patience did her best to comply with Dr. Matthews' suggestion, but the news nevertheless came hard to her mother. Accordingly, the mood remained somber as the day dragged on. Patience eventually found it necessary to depart for her afternoon classes. Since she simply could not afford to miss the events planned for today, she regretfully gave her mother a kiss and informed her that she would be back in the morning.

In flight over Kansas – The Same Day

**Mitch scanned the horizon,** the private jet streaking through the air at thirty-seven thousand feet. It was a perfect day for flying and, Mitch and his co-pilot chatting aimlessly, the flight progressed without a hitch.

"What are you going to do when we get back home, Mitch?" the co-pilot queried.

Mitch replied, "I dunno. I suppose Sandy will have something cooked up for the weekend. That is, if Mr. Al-Wadi doesn't have another unexpected trip in the next couple of days. How about you, Bill?"

"I was thinking of driving down to the canyon if the weather holds up. Might do some hiking."

"How long does it take to get to the Grand Canyon from Vegas, anyway?" Mitch asked.

"Depends on what part you go to. It's real big, you know," Bill replied, overstating the obvious. Examining the gauges before him absentmindedly, a frown suddenly came over his face, eliciting, "Uh oh...Mitch, we've got a warning light. It's engine number two."

"Damn...just our luck. We'd better land somewhere and take care of it. It's too far to go back to Chicago. See what's the closest place with private jet service, Bill."

"I don't have to look. It's Lincoln - Duncan Aviation. I've been there a couple of times. Good clean airport, excellent outfit."

"Okay. Well, at least we don't have to land in that cornfield."

"It's not a cornfield, Mitch. It's just a small airfield with no services."

"Why do you suppose Mr. Al-Wadi wanted to land there, Bill?"

"Dunno, and I don't want to know," Bill responded dryly.

"You got that right," Mitch put in, "The less we know about Mr. Al-Wadi's dealings, the better. Anyway, what with that engine light, the cornfield is out of the question. How far is Lincoln?"

"It's only about seventy-five miles west of us. We can coast that far even if we have to shut the engine down."

"Okay, get a clearance and tell them we've got engine troubles."

"Will do," Bill replied.

A few moments later the co-pilot opened the door to the main cabin and, stepping through the door, he squatted within in the low-hung space of the small cabin. "Wassim! Hey, Wassim. Wake up!" he called to the nearest passenger.

Lurching awake, Wassim responded groggily, "Huh? What?"

"Where's Mr. Al-Wadi?" Mitch asked politely.

"He's in the back cabin playing patty-fingers with the girls."

"Better get him. I need to speak to him."

"No, I'm afraid that is quite impossible. Mr. Al-Wadi doesn't like to be disturbed when he is with the girls."

"Okay, whatever," Bill replied, "Just tell him when he's done with those two that we have a mechanical problem with one of the engines."

"What sort of problem? Anything dangerous?" Wassim replied.

"No, it's nothing like that. Just an engine light, but we have to deal with it - FAA regulations."

"Okay, thanks Bill," at which point he got up to go aft, in the process murmuring to himself, "I'd better tell Mr. Al-Wadi."

Mr. Al-Wadi and his entourage landed in Lincoln twenty minutes later.

Lincoln, Nebraska – Mid-Afternoon

**Brandt was ushered to the appointed door and,** knocking softly, he heard a voice from within announce, "Come in!" at which he pushed the door open.

Rising from his desk, the person within exclaimed, "Ah, here you are at long last, Dr. MacCauley. I am Nemat Rohani, Professor of Computer Science here at Nebraska State University. Welcome to our campus!"

"Thank you, Dr. Rohani," Brandt responded pleasantly, "Please, call me Brandt."

"With pleasure," Dr. Rohani replied, "My friends call me Nick, if you will. Although I was born in Persia, I've lived in the United States for more than half my life."

"Ah, so you must be one of those unfortunate former students who were forcibly expatriated by the fall of the Shah in 1980."

"1979," Nick corrected, "Yes, but it all turned out in the end. You see, I am now a U.S. citizen."

"Congratulations," Brandt rejoined and, moving on to the subject at hand, he offered, "Let me say what a distinct honor it is to be invited to give today's seminar."

"Oh, the honor is ours, Brandt. Your reputation precedes you, as I'm sure you know."

"Thank you. And may I say how impressed I am with your campus. Lincoln is a lovely city, and Nebraska State far surpasses anything I could have imagined."

"Thanks, but you wouldn't want to spend an entire winter here, I can promise you!"

"Perhaps you are right, Nick, but having grown up in Scotland, I've seen my share of inclement weather."

Chuckling convivially at this pronouncement, Dr. Rohani now announced, "Well, as we are pressed for time, I suggest we get you set up to give your seminar, immediately after which we shall meet with my graduate students."

"Excellent!" Brandt responded, and with that, the pair set off for the auditorium.

Shortly After the Seminar

**Patience entered the conference room** and, noticing that she was the last student to arrive, she took a seat in one corner. All six students waited in silence, and shortly thereafter Dr. Rohani entered, accompanied by his visitor.

"Students," Dr. Rohani announced, "I want all of you to meet Dr. Brandt MacCauley, from Cal Tech. Dr. MacCauley has in a very short span of time become one of the leading experts in the world in the extremely complex field of pattern recognition. Please, Dr. MacCauley, have a seat here by me," at which the pair took their seats.

From her vantage point Patience could see that Dr. MacCauley was surprisingly young for one so famous. Not only that, he was quite striking in appearance. At somewhat more than six feet, he carried himself well, and he was possessed of a rather rakish smile.

Dr. Rohani now cleared his throat and observed, "As you are all aware, Dr. MacCauley needs no introduction. Let me simply say this - Dr. MacCauley has introduced a radically new approach to pattern recognition, one so ingenious that his research will undoubtedly change our world dramatically over the next quarter of a century. But before we start, why don't we go around the room and each of you can introduce yourselves. Amit, suppose you start."

At this one of the students jerked his head back, stammering, "Yes...of course, sir..." and nodding toward Dr. MacCauley, he announced, "Sir, I am Amit Patel, from India. I am studying for my Ph.D. in neural networks."

"Excellent!" Dr. MacCauley responded, "And where did you study in India?"

"At IIT Madras," he responded.

"Fine school," Dr. MacCauley volunteered.

"Have you been there, sir?"

"Yes, and a lovelier campus I doubt you'll find in that part of the world," and with that, he glanced toward the next student.

Seeing his turn had arrived, the student said, "Sir, my name is Constantinos Stefalos, from Lebanon. I am also studying neural networks."

"Ah, Beirut, I trust!" Dr. MacCauley put in.

"Yes, sir," the student responded pleasantly.

"Excellent!" Dr. MacCauley replied, turning thereafter to the next student.

The student now introduced himself, saying, "Sir, I am Richard Goldman, from Laramie, Wyoming. I am studying artificial intelligence."

"Ah, an American!" Dr. MacCauley observed. "I wish you luck with artificial intelligence, Mr. Goldman. As for myself, I shall stick to human intelligence. Heavens knows, far too few people seem to exercise their own in this world," at which the group snickered convivially.

The next student now exclaimed, "Hello, sir. My name is Ahmed Safjani. I'm from Egypt. I did my undergraduate studies at The University of Cairo, and I've been here in Nebraska for four years now. I am working on my Ph.D. in large scale computing."

"Very impressive, Mr. Safjani," Brandt complimented, "And where are you from in Egypt?"

"I'm from Edfu, sir. Do you know it?"

"Ah, the Upper Nile," Brandt put in, adding, "No, I've not been there, but I've seen much of Egypt, including Assiut, Luxor, and Aswan. Lovely country, if I may say so."

"Thank you, sir," Ahmed responded politely, at which Brandt turned his attention to the final student.

She now proffered, "Sir, I am Rebecca Chandar, originally from India. I am studying for my Ph.D. in pattern recognition."

"Oh, excellent!" Dr. Mac Cauley exclaimed, "And where did you study in India, if I may ask?"

"Actually, I studied in Christchurch, New Zealand, at the University of Canterbury. My family moved there when I was quite young."

"My, you are a long way from home," he interjected, "And just how did you come by the name Rebecca?"

At this she smiled and explained, "Ah, well, my given name is actually Radhika. My fellow students couldn't seem to get it right, so one day Richard called me Rebecca, and the name somehow stuck."

"I see..." Dr. MacCauley murmured, adding mirthfully, "Sounds quite reasonable to me!" at which the group twittered yet again.

The introductions completed, Dr. Rohani suggested, "Dr. MacCauley, suppose you tell us a bit about your research on pattern recognition?"

"Of course," his visitor volunteered, "But first, perhaps the young lady in the corner should introduce herself."

"Oh, I'm sorry!" Dr. Rohani exclaimed in obvious embarrassment and, turning toward her he said, "Please, Miss Walker."

Having hoped that she might be overlooked, Patience squirmed within her seat and, clearing her throat, she said, "Hi, Dr. MacCauley. I'm Patience Walker. I'm just an undergrad trying to find my way in the world. About the only thing I know at this point is Morse code," at which the other students snickered patronizingly.

At this, Dr. Rohani interjected, "I apologize yet again, Miss Walker," and, turning toward his guest, he announced, "Miss Walker is absolutely the very best undergraduate student I've ever had here at Nebraska State University. I am expecting great things from her," at which Patience blushed noticeably.

"Well, I wish you all the best, Miss Walker," Dr. MacCauley offered, "You certainly seem to have chosen the right field of study," at which the group broke into laughter yet a third time. He now launched into a discourse on the subject of pattern recognition that had everyone's brains swimming within a matter of minutes.

At the end of their meeting, Dr. MacCauley approached the young ladies, volunteering, "I wish you both well here at Nebraska State," and, turning toward Patience, he suggested, "And if at the completion of your undergraduate studies, you are interested in trying your hand at graduate studies, I would welcome contact with you."

"Why, thank you, Dr. MacCauley," Patience responded, "But to tell you the truth, I'm just trying to get through this semester at the moment."

"Certainly," he replied empathetically, "Nonetheless, the offer stands," and so saying, he handed her his business card.

"Thank you, sir," Patience responded and, taking the proffered card, she announced, "And now, Rebecca and I must be off. We are performing at the International Festival tonight in the campus theatre."

"Ah, that sounds adventurous," Dr. MacCauley responded, "Well, then, I hope you have a good time."

Early Evening

**Patience's mood only worsened** as the day dragged on toward nightfall. Still, there was nothing she could do about it until the following day.

Rebecca arrived at her study carrel right on time, suggesting, "Ready?"

Patience replied, "Yes, of course."

Rebecca announced, "I brought the items I mentioned," and so saying, she handed them to Patience. The pair then departed.

Arriving a short time later at the theatre, they headed backstage, Rebecca exclaiming, "Thanks ever so much for agreeing to do this, Patience."

"Oh, it's nothing," Patience responded morosely, "To tell you the truth, I needed something distracting to get me through today, and this international festival might be just the thing."

"Why? What seems to be the problem?" Rebecca inquired.

"Oh, it's nothing. It's just that my mother is quite ill," Patience volunteered.

"Oh, I'm so sorry to hear that," Rebecca responded, "Is there anything I can do to help?"

"That's very kind of you, Rebecca, but I can handle it."

At this moment an attendant came up and announced, "Time to put on your costumes, ladies."

"Okay," Rebecca responded and, turning toward Patience, she offered, "So here is how you put on a berka," and so saying, she demonstrated by donning her own.

"My goodness!" Patience exclaimed, "It's sort of like a tent," and placing the hood over her head, she added in a muffled voice, "I feel like I'm in a tiny closet or something. I can see out, but on one can see in."

"Yes, that's the general idea," Rebecca agreed, "A woman's body is considered quite sacred in the Muslim world," and observing Patience's appearance, she reached forward to adjust her apparel to its proper look.

The pair were called forth shortly, at which they followed others onto the stage, the announcer saying, "And here we have the traditional clothing worn by women in Saudi Arabia," at which a smattering of applause was heard from the audience.

Within the Audience

**Watching from his vantage point in the third row, Brandt** thought he recognized the two young ladies before him but, he couldn't be certain, their costumes having concealed their identities quite exceptionally. But then he noticed the green eyes of the one on the left, and his doubts vanished.

The Airport – Later that Night

**Mr. Al-Wadi checked his wristwatch** impatiently, subsequently glancing up in search of the anticipated arrival. Seeing an approaching vehicle, he heaved a sigh of relief.

The car pulling alongside the jet moments later, Wassim emerged and said, "I have the package, sir."

"Excellent, Wassim," he responded. "Did she give you any trouble?"

"No sir, I did exactly as you said. The rufilin did the trick in no time at all. She is sleeping like a baby."

"Alright," Mr. Al-Wadi responded and, turning on his heel, he mounted the stairs to the interior of the plane. Reaching the top step, he turned and instructed, "Get her aboard, Wassim. We must be going. Had we not been diverted by that damned engine light, we should have been out of here much earlier. We must try to get back on schedule if at all possible. Otherwise, we shall miss our window of opportunity."

"Yes, sir," Wassim responded, immediately setting to his assigned task.

In Flight over Utah - Midnight

**Drifting into consciousness, Patience** gradually tugged the cobwebs from her mind. Eventually opening her eyes, she mused to herself, "I must be dreaming," but then, observing her surroundings, she asked herself, "Where am I?" Closing her eyes, she thought back - the last thing she could remember was talking to that guy at the festival. Hearing voices, she opened her eyes a second time.

A male voice exclaimed, "Sir, she's coming to. What do we do?"

"Shut up, Wassim," Mr. Al-Wadi replied rudely. He rose and, crouching as he came aft, he said, "Here, let me get by you. I need to talk to her."

Climbing over to where Patience lay, he cooed pleasantly, "Hello, Miss Walker."

Peering woozily up at him from her prone position, she could only think to say, "Where am I?"

"Oh, you're in the hospital," he lied.

Something, perhaps it was the low hum in the background, made his reply seem not quite right to her, but she couldn't quite place the surroundings in her fuzzy semi-conscious state.

"Here, please sign this, Miss Walker," he suggested.

"What is it?" she responded woozily.

"It's the papers for your mother's hospitalization."

"Papers?" she queried in confusion.

"Yes, for your mother's operation. You recall, she needs a heart transplant. These papers will take care of everything." He handed her a pen and helped her to sit up far enough to sign the paper. He subsequently thrust the paper toward her and, propping herself precariously on one elbow, Patience scribbled her name.

Flopping back down in exhaustion from the effort, she thought to herself, "I wonder who he is. Such a nice man," and then she drifted back into unconsciousness.

Seeing her listless state, Mr. Al-Wadi instructed, "Give her another injection, Wassim, but not too much. We need her ready for tomorrow."

"Yeah, sir," Wassim responded.

Mr. Al-Wadi now exclaimed, "Tell me again how the pickup went."

"She was in that berka, but I talked to her as soon as I got to the festival, so I knew I had the right person. So a few minutes later I slipped her the rufilin, and when she began slurring her words, Navid and I hustled her out of there. The rest will be taken care of by tomorrow."

"Alright, Wassim. Double check everything as soon as we get back to Las Vegas. The plans are all in place, so we must move along quickly," and, shaking his head in disbelief, he murmured to himself, "Patience Walker...what a strange name..."

He glanced back toward her prone body and, still shaking his head, he ordered, "Get her back into the berka. We'll be landing soon. We need her to be disguised."

"Yes, sir," Wassim said, rising to do his bidding.

"Oh, and one other thing," Mr. Al-Wadi said, "When we get to Las Vegas, get me the dossier on this woman."

"Yes, sir."

Up front in the cockpit Mitch turned to Bill, saying, "Not bad, we should be in Vegas in less than an hour."

Las Vegas – The Following Morning

**Patience opened her eyes** again, this time feeling rather restrained and uncomfortable. Somehow unable to move her hands and feet, she sensed that she must be stretched out on a table. Immediately terrified, she screamed in terror, "Help! Help me!"

"There, there now, Patience," a spinsterish-looking woman cooed softly to her. Stroking her arm gently, the woman added, "Everything is okay. You're just a bit surprised at being bound. But don't worry, you're not injured. You'll be just fine." Glancing over her shoulder, the woman exclaimed to someone that Patience could not see, "Wassim, go tell Mr. Al-Wadi that she's awake. She's gonna be just fine for her performance."

"Excellent!" Wassim replied, immediately departing for his assigned task.

The woman turned back to Patience, inquiring considerately, "How are you feeling? Still dizzy?"

"A little, yes," Patience replied, still disoriented, but somehow soothed by the woman's reassuring voice. "So where am I?"

"You're in Las Vegas," the woman responded reassuringly. "My name's Bernice, and you're Patience. That's a nice name."

"What am I doing here?" Patience blurted in utter terror.

"There, there, just you rest up," Bernice soothed, "Mr. Al-Wadi will explain everything. In the meantime, take a look at the hairdo I done for you," and, as if intending to accentuate her supposition, she held up a mirror for Patience to see herself.

Glancing in the mirror, Patience lurched in shock, immediately attempting to wrench herself free, "My God, what have you done to my hair? I look like a biker babe!" Glancing again, she could see that her head had been shaved, with the exception of her bangs and a large rectangular patch on top. A barrette had been employed to make the patch stand up, causing it to splay out dramatically in every direction.

"Don't worry, Patience. It'll grow back. It was necessary for your performance."

"Performance?" Patience blurted, but added somewhat ludicrously, "How did you get it to stand up like that? It must be ten inches long, standing up in a fan shape, like a horse's mane."

Bernice responded with, "Oh, that. It's my job, you know, to make the girls look special. You make it stand up by using egg whites. I'm real proud of it. I think it's my best ever!" Seeing Patience's doubtful look, she added, "It'll wash out, you'll see."

At that moment Mr. Al-Wadi sauntered into the room, asking in a commanding voice, "How's our newest recruit doing?" He came over to the table on which Patience was resting and exclaimed with an engaging grin, "Hi. I'm Mr. Al-Wadi. Welcome to our organization, Miss Walker."

Scrutinizing him with obvious irritation, Patience spat out vehemently, "Why am I being held against my will, Mr. Al-Wadi?"

At this, he glared at her and replied, "You're not being held against your will, Patience! We appreciate you agreeing to do this for us on such short notice. I am quite confident it will all work out in the end. As we discussed, all we need for you to do is deliver the package for us, and once that is completed, we will have you on your way back to Nebraska in no time at all. And, as promised, the funds for your mother's operation will be paid to you in cash."

"I don't remember anything after talking to that guy over there at the festival last night. I didn't _decide_ to do this," she croaked, "You kidnapped me!"

"I don't know what you're talking about, Patience. When Wassim brought you onboard the aircraft, you begged me to let you come along. You said you needed the money for your mom's operation, remember?" and, turning to Bernice, he murmured, "She's just a little confused. She signed the contract. You saw it, Bernice. Give her a double shot of whiskey before we leave. She'll be fine."

Turning back to Patience, he cajoled, "Now, Patience, you signed the contract, and you promised to deliver the package. So you are contractually obligated. You must adhere to the terms of your contract, okay? If you do this, then the money for your mother's operation will be in your hands in short order. But if you fail to deliver the package, then I shall be unable to pay for your mother's operation. It's just business, you understand. I must protect my interests. You agreed to all of this on the plane, so just go with the flow, okay?"

All further thought of disagreement now put out of her mind by the sinister look on Mr. Al-Wadi's face, she replied in abject fear, "What's in the package?"

"Let's just say, it's none of your affair."

"Ah, so it's something illegal," she suggested and, contemplating momentarily, she added suspiciously, "Oh, I get it – it's a drug deal. Must be worth millions to go to this much trouble."

He eyed her noncommittally and, gently squeezing her arm, he said, "I assure you, you shall be rewarded with your fair share, Miss Walker."

Attempting to quell her mounting terror, she inquired, "Okay, but what do I have to do?"

"Just do as Wassim tells you," he responded supportively. "Now, let's get everything ready. You leave in five minutes!" And with that he strolled from the room.

Squirming in an attempt to free herself, Patience asked herself aloud, "What the heck am I doing here? How did I get into this?"

Ignoring her questions, Bernice said, "Here, drink this. It'll calm your nerves."

Patience gulped down a whole lot of whiskey, quite enough to make her tongue thick within a matter of seconds. "What am I supposed to do, Bernice?"

"What do you mean?" Bernice asked in confusion.

"The delivery!" Patience asked doubtfully.

"Oh, don't worry about that, Patience. Wassim will tell you where to deliver the package when you get there. Just follow his instructions."

"Okay," Patience whimpered, but it was clear that she was anything but okay.

Moments later Wassim unclasped her manacles and drew her from the room.

