When the US cannot be officially represented in dealings with East Germany, CIA man Mike Allen gets Paul to pose as a friend of Alicia Stuyvesant (Janice Rule), and represent her to exchange a Communist spy for her husband, an innocent man convicted on espionage charges.
Click the arrow at right to start the video clip.
Chronology of Events
Saturday - Sunday, December 25 - 26
Kate met my flight, and we went straight to Old St. Mary's before going to her apartment. When we walked in I was completely overcome. Unlike the conventional place she'd been living since April, this haven of so many memories felt like a home of my heart.
She'd made a special space for us to celebrate Christmas - the 12-place table gone from the dining room which now held a huge and brightly lit tree, sofa by the fireplace, and a supper table set for the season.
I couldn't help being moved by the significance of being alive, and here together …. the special effort Kate had made for me, having lost her father less than two months ago.
To change a potentially weepy mood to something a little more frolicsome, I took a now-somewhat-battered envelope out of my pocket, and apologized to Katie for not getting it gift-wrapped. My original idea, I told her, was to offer it in a giant box full of stuffing.
“In lieu of gift wrap,” I announced, and with a grand flourish, took out a pen and drew a Christmas tree on the outside, adding, “we'll do it right this time,” and handed her the envelope.
Inside were two tickets to Spain, and it was Kate's turn to get misty. She quickly disappeared into the kitchen to prepare lunch while I made a few phone calls, first of all to Marcella, to arrange pick up of Kate's present that Marcie had to get when I didn't make it to Gumps before Christmas Eve closing.
After phoning Ben du Pres with seasons greetings and a promise I'd see him in the New Year, drove over to Marcella's with an extra present for her bought at the Miami airport, and was back in time for lunch.
Following dessert Kate presented me with her own envelope - the opposite of mine. Grand and sumptuous, it looked to be made of vellum. On the outside was the symbol she'd designed for us.
The contents were a shock. A check from The Kathryn Pierce Gallery for $387,000 - the total receipts from sale of my Genvieve Royales. “And only auctioneer's commissions,” Kate said, indicating that the gallery's usual percentage was her contribution to the team.
Considering the work she must have expended to achieve this kind of price, she more than deserved the 15%. In August she'd told me the paintings were worth a little over $200,000, but the girl with a mirror had realized $130,000 on its own.
As a final bit of triumphalism Kate added that the price of Royale's work had started falling in the last month. Courtesy of Katie's poker nerve, we'd sold at the top of the market. So many things are going right just now. I have to believe in these omens.
To celebrate the sale Katie brought out a bottle of champagne, and as I was opening it, Pete rang, saying that he'd made a deal with Clive and Rhona, and would bring over some papers the next day.
With that bit of extra good news, we finished the bottle rapidly before dinner - everything on the menu a special favorite. Afterwards we opened our presents in front of the fire.
When I affixed the clasp of the gold chain holding the One Hand One Heart pendant Gumps had constructed after her design, I made a vow to keep Katie close for as long as we might have.
Watching the diamonds glitter below her throat in the firelight, I tried on Kate's gift of hand-made shoes that, well, felt as if they had been made for me.
Inside one was a beautiful poem she'd written about where my steps might lead. It had been uncanny. We'd both given one another something hand-made to wear of a symbolic nature with poems attached. Not to mention the envelopes!
An exquisite night in every way. Kate's familiar perfume, the scent of the tree and the logs, candlelight everywhere - it all added to a sense of well-being that will be a constant resource in difficult times.
On Sunday, June and Pete came over, he bearing a Letter of Intent for the Gaffney-Bryan Mastin partnership along with an expanded schedule of races we'd now be able to enter through April.
And even before completion, two brand new Mastins were presently on their way to Morocco, a gesture of good faith on the part of Rhona and Clive who had already deposited their promised financing in the bank.
Pete was a little dubious about using the Mastin company's preferred test track at Malaga rather than our having first choice, but we left that as an open negotiating point.
It then slipped that June was going with him to Marrakech. The first time to my knowledge that he was actually taking her to a race, rather than June's just showing up.
As I went skimming through the documents Pete was handing me, she and Kate began talking about the race partnership, and June brought up Pete's idea about involving Rachel Pike, the concept I'd seen as a non-starter.
Kate chimed in that with the re-launch of the Mastin road car, there just might be a hook to lure Rachel with now. (Hadn't even thought she'd picked up on that when I mentioned Pete's idea at Christmas dinner!)
It made me start to wonder what two middle class lads like ourselves were in for once these privileged business women started getting involved in our racing fun.
Mentioning that Rhona and Clive bringing preliminary documents specific for our partnership to Malaga, Pete gave me the Mastin Standard Operating Contract that could be the basis of the new team.
But I knew I'd never be able to concentrate on anything with this interesting chat taking place three feet away. When asking one another about plans for New Year's Eve, we discovered that both couples were headed for Spain.
Pete and June are off tomorrow, and she immediately suggested we come and stay at her father's place. He'd bought miles and miles of Costa del Sol real estate after the War, and had built a complex at the most beautiful spot for himself.
Kate and I didn't even venture a conferring glance, but said we'd love to in unison. More relaxed than Christmas, the day after was extra sublime to the night before, and I realized that I'm only just learning the meaning of the word.
Paul finally arrives in San Francisco on Christmas Day, and spends a blissful evening with Kate.
The next day Pete Gaffney brings over documents launching negotiations for a partnership with the Mastin Motor Company.
San Francisco - en route to Spain
Monday - Wednesday, December 27 - 29
Unhappy about bringing reality into Christmastime, rang Gene Mason about an appointment after the Morocco race, and he gave me the address of a patient here with my disease whom he'd like me to talk to. but I told him it couldn't be during the holidays.
As we're keeping a low profile with our relationship, Katie and I stayed in most of the time, and had little contact with outside, courtesy of her telling everyone that she'd be away.
It has been pure magic - with a little time to study the Mastin pro forma contracts. Handling Pete's legal work for ages as a sideline, I've gotten used to the language and terms of motor racing, and have found most of the clauses of the Mastin non-specific contracts OK.
Reading through them again now on the plane, and believe that we'll be dealing with fair people.
Thursday, December 30
Dragging ourselves away from the little bit of heaven that Andrew Bradley had developed was not easy, but the four of us drove back to Malaga today to meet Rhona and Clive, and to test the new Mastin. There was actually nothing really new about it but it was OUR car now, and Pete and I drove it with relish. A thrill!!
Rhona and Clive were still on Cloud 9, and gave us the rough contracts to look at. Clive and I flipped a coin, and he's going to take the second car drive on Tuesday.
Based on a mutual decision not to mix business and pleasure YET, June didn't invite the Darrells to Violet Cove, but it was all right, as their plan was to join friends in Madrid for New Year's Eve.
After testing we went over the contracts verbally, and nothing seemed out of line to us, all Pete's requirements having been duly included. He and I went over them briefly in the car going back, and will probably have another look on the beach tomorrow.
A great day of driving and hope for the future, but we hardly got a chance to enjoy the amenities of our comfortable bungalow before collapsing with exhilaration-generated fatigue.
Friday, December 31
I made it this far. With a lot of thought about the things discussed with Bart, I'm learning to savor joy without looking around the corner - and to allow myself to feel in depth without dwelling on loss.
The past week has genuinely been the happiest of my life. I cannot now even understand the mentality that made me run away when Katie and I could have taken off together after my search for Doug.
Maybe some instinct in me sensed I could let go more easily without the bounty of joy that is in my grasp right now. I was really only trying to run from myself.
It may be no more than an illusion, but this depth of contentment feels so real. It's strange, these last months, I've felt so invincible. Nine months Dr. Mason guaranteed me, or so I believed. I thought nothing could kill me.
And now, from the New Year, I realize that any day could begin the sequence of my ending this life. But I can only do what Bart advised - to rejoice with each morning. This one I embrace with the profoundest amount of joy! And we're going to savor that beautiful beach and sea the whole day.
Paul and Kate fly to Spain to join Pete and June at her father's home for New Year's.
Paul and Pete meet their new partners in Malaga, and test their car
Paul reflects on the end of the year.
Violet Cove - Berlin - En route to Marrakesh
Saturday - Sunday, January 1 - 2
We were dressing for New Year's Eve when a call came in from Marcella. Mike Allen was trying to reach me, and she'd told him that on a Need to Know basis, she wasn't able to advise him where I was.
He'd gone on to quote national security, but she only promised to get back to him. I had a good laugh, and complimented her, but said that she could give him my number - but not until she'd celebrated New Year's Eve.
Following our own festivities, Marcella's call haunted my dreams, and I had a nightmare that is difficult to shake. It had me in Berlin negotiating the exchange of an innocent American for an agent from East Germany.
The US government had been bombarded by dozens of friends and family members to get the man released, but as in any typical Mike Allen farce, his choice for a civilian negotiator was none of these.
Instead, he proposed the incongruous idea that the lover of the man's wife would be the most likely person to want her husband free, and Alicia Stuyvesant having no lover, Mike made one up - me. someone who the KGB would even have a file on.
Typical of a dream, I had no problem with the concept of a lover wanting to free his mistress' husband, and called a racing journalist I met in Kolon to make contact with the East German government.
Finding my beloved Saville Row suit ripped up when I returned to West Berlin, East German State Security then called me in, only to turn me down flat as a negotiator.
The hard edge of the nightmare melted away, and the heartbroken wife was telling me her husband would probably die in prison. “Going to die,” she kept repeating, and the dream got scary again when the East Germans said they had a dossier on me as an American agent.
The dream seemed to end, but then they were back, offering terms for exchange of an East German spy for the American businessman.
Not sure what caused the next segment, but I experienced a sharp pain that nearly woke me up, translated in the dream as a stabbing. I got Mike to help me find my assailant - who turned out to be one of the East German staff.
It was just a romantic triangle involving their agent, but the couple involved in the dream were actually the Swiss caretakers here at Violet Cove.
The dream then went back to the main issue, and the East Germans presented me with the bandaged businessman - whom I spotted to be a fake. When the commandant noticed my reaction, he said if I gave anything away, I'd be a dead man.
He kept repeating the words, and my sub sub-conscious managed to bring me back at Violet Cove, diving and enjoying the archery for a while until suddenly back at East German security headquarters, hearing that I would be dead.
I dove out what surely was a barred window, and ran until I found a sporting goods store. Using high-powered archery equipment I shot messages direct into the window of Mike Allen's office miles away, then surrendered to the East Berlin police.
When we went to make the trade at Checkpoint Charlie a cloud of cold steam came up from the ground to obscure what happened, and I got into the West with the East German spy held back.
It was actually Kate opening the door of our steam room that caused me to wake up, but a bad start to the New Year.
Real life didn't get a lot better. I was on the beach with June, waiting for Kate when two men approached, Pete and the security staff behind them, protesting in no uncertain terms.
Mike Allen's men actually flashed weapons, and said I was urgently needed in Berlin. Kate was horrified, even frightened, and I tried to reassure her as I packed, saying that Mike was usually full of hot air, and there was nothing to worry about.
Actually seething inside, I tried to appear positive with her. My desire to throttle Mike Allen only increased on the flight from Malaga, and when I found out what he wanted, my anger was then doubled.
It was all a small matter of vouching for Sydney Crookshank, who'd once again gotten himself in a spot of trouble with Communist authorities.
Sydney free, I proposed he come to Marrakesh to the race, and we topped off the evening with a round of New Year receptions on embassy row.
CIA agent Mike Allen tries to reach Paul on New Year's Eve, causing a disturbing nightmare in whichPaul is to act as go-between to exchange an American businessman for an East German spy, with Paul posing as lover of the American's estranged wife.
The East Germans appear to be unwilling to cooperate with Paul, and even rip up his cllothing, apparently looking for something. The wife is desperate and in need of support, fearing that her husband will die.
When Paul finally manages to arrange the exchange, he is stabbed in the street by the new lover of the East German spy's girlfriend. When Paul is introduced to the American businessman, it is immediately clear that he is a fake, and his observation is noted.
Paul is to be held, and have a gun at his back as the exchange is made the next day, to prevent him from disclosing the truth, and stopping release of the East German agent.
But Paul dives through a window, and gets away. He uses bow and arrow to shoot a message into West Berlin, then turns himself in.
When the exchange takes place the next morning, a smoke screen is raised to protect Paul and reclaim the East German agent, but Paul must tell the wife that her husband died in prison.
The dream almost turns into reality when CIA men accost Paul on the Bradley's private beach, and take him to Berlin - but only to get his journalist friend Sydney Crookshank out of a jam.
Monday, January 3
From the cold and cold war of Berlin to Morocco is a tonic, and the festival here is jolly as the scene in Brazil. And like there, we are launching our new team, adding frosting on top of frosting.
The street circuit is so colorful, I'm kind of glad not to be driving, there is so much to distract. Clive, on the other hand, about to make his first official race start in years, can't wait, and was not just impressive in practice yesterday, but has grabbed pole position. Rhona is TRANSFORMED.
Kate and I had a great time, just wandering around, and like the nightmare on New Year's Eve, Berlin seems only a dream at the end of today.
Tuesday, January 4
All the little steps that got us here - Bangkok, Rhona's sabotage in Molinos that brought us together with Clive, all the good that's come from everything has to be an omen.
It all culminated today in everyone (but Pete's) dream. Gaffney-Bryan Mastin at the top of the podium in a real race, Clive's winner's trophy taking 20 years off him.
The wheel to wheel battle he and Pete had at the end was spectacular, and the racing reporters were as high as we all were over Clive's return and the exciting new team.
Even Pete was a bit misty, the first time I've seen him accept second place with equanimity. We will party into the night!
Marrakech - Paris
Wednesday, January 5
June to Delhi, Sydney to London and the others gone back to Malaga, Katie and I have stayed on to relax until evening, but she's not had the energy of the weekend today, so we relaxed at the hotel instead of wandering through the suks.
When she suggested going to see Armand and Odette, said I didn't feel ready to break bread with her former lover and his wife, so we had a light meal and went to bed early, Kate again claiming fatigue.
Paris - San Francisco
Thursday, January 6
Kate was feeling a little under the weather and slept through most of the flight, so I spent the time working on the race contracts, incorporating my notes and Pete's, feeling positive and confident about the deal when we touched down at SFO.
After dropping the contract pages off at Mark Nettlinger's for scrutiny, Katie and I had one last evening under the Christmas tree with her special dinner for Three Kings, seemingly whipped out of nowhere.
7 - 10 January 1966 ("The Assassin" /
"Where Mystery Begins" part 1)
Pete and Clive race on a street circuit in Marrakech.
Clive wins, his first start in many years, and Pete is second, getting the new team off to a perfect start in the Tropical Season.
Kate and Paul fly to Paris for a night.
They return to San Francisco to complete a very special holiday season.