25 December 1965 - 6 January 1966

	Run For Your Life Starring Ben Gazzara Homepage Paul Bryan's Journal 25 December 1965 - 6 January 1966
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25 December 1965 - 6 January 1966 (Holidays with Kate Pierce / "The Exchange")

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.

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Return to "The Exchange" page or read from Paul's journal about the events of the episode below

Journal Entry		Chronology of Events

San Francisco, 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 ten-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 but be 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 envelope, and gave her a peck on the cheek. Inside were two tickets to Spain, and it was her 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 I didn't manage to get on Christmas Eve before Gumps closed. After wishing seasons greetings to Ben Du Pre, with a promise that I'd see him in the New Year, I drove over to Marcella's with an extra present 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 commission 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 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 for times I might need it. 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. (I hadn't even thought she'd picked up on that when I told her 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. Pointing out that Rhona and Clive would be bringing preliminary documents specific for our partnership with them to Malaga, Pete then 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. Kate and I didn't even venture a conferring glance, but both 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, Monnday - Wednesday, December 27 - 29 Not really happy with the idea of bringing reality into the situation, I 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 in this Christmas period. 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.
Violet Cove, Thursday, December 30 Dragging ourselves away from the little bit of heaven that Matthew 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. And speaking of Cloud 9, think I've got my own! 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 testing and hope for the future, and I hardly got a chance to enjoy the amenities of our comfortable bungalow before collapsing with exhilaration-generated fatigue.		Paul and Pete meet their new partners in Malaga, and test their car
Violet Cove, 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 to just anywhere last April when Katie and I could have taken off together. Maybe some instinct in me sensed that 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 reflects on the end of the year.
Berlin - Paris, Saturday - Thursday , January 1- 6 We'd been 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, and she said that she'd try 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. New Year's Day Katie and I were out having breakfast by our pool when two men approached the bungalow from the main house, Pete behind them, protesting in no uncertain terms. They actually flashed weapons, and said that I was urgently needed in Berlin. Kate was horrified, even frightened, and I tried to reassure her when we went indoors to pack, saying that Mike Allen was usually full of hot air, and there was nothing to worry about. Actually seething inside, I promised to stay in touch and 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. An innocent American businessman had been convicted as a spy, and though he had dozens of relatives stepping up to the plate to do anything they could to facilitate the trade for a Communist agent, Mike Allen figured he should bring in someone completely unrelated to the issue to assume a fake identity - someone who the KGB would have a file on. If we are winning the Cold War, it's only by accident or even greater incompetence on the other side. As long as I was there, and the day was lost, I agreed to meet the victim's wife, and felt sorry for her. They were estranged, and she obviously felt guilty, so I thought she deserved some support, and decided to go ahead with the plan of posing as her lover. The scenario that someone in that position would want to free her husband was beyond me, but the guy was innocent (and according to the wife, helpless), so I concentrated on that. She had invitations to a few diplomatic parties, and we made a quick round of them before I delivered the lady back to her hotel at eleven. Rang Katie and told her that she shouldn't worry; it was a minor assignment, then spent an hour or so going over the race contract. Mike gave me no leads whatsoever, and since I was supposed to be acting as a private citizen in negotiation with the East German government who wanted to get their own man back from the US, I went across to the East and contacted the only person I knew in East Berlin, Rudy Fischer, a motor racing journalist Pete introduced me to in Kolon. Wasn't surprised that he wasn't much help when I asked him who to see, but that night, a couple government thugs came into my hotel, and ripped up my clothing - in search of what, who knows. Then I got a call to attend the Bureau of State Security before dawn. Met with Major Kleist, but he didn't buy my story about being a private citizen, and I figured Mike Allen could now find some other patsy to take over the project, and I'd be able to fly to Marrakech for the race the next day. But I felt bound to meet the wife and report on my progress - which was nil. While not wanting her to give up hope, I told her that someone else would probably have to go on in my place. She seemed heartbroken, and thought that her husband would probably die in prison. At that point, I had to admit feeling more committed to helping, and told her that she should immediately call a family member to come to Berlin to support her. Rang Kate in Marrakech to say that I probably wouldn't make the race, and then Pete to wish him good luck. Later I got a call from Major Kleist. Not to my surprise, he had a dossier on me, and I wondered again why Mike Allen was insisting on putting me in harm's way when there were a host of perfectly obvious relatives and friends to act as private-citizen negotiators. But astonishingly, Kleist then did an about face, and despite appearing quite sure that I was an American agent, presented me with terms for exchanging the East German spy for the American businessman. The shadowy exercise next took on an even darker side from which I'm still aching. After leaving the office, someone tried to kill me. Out in the street I was stabbed, and just managed to get the license number as the assailant drove away. On a day when I should have been in Morocco enjoying the festival, and watching the debut of the Gaffney-Bryan Mastin team, I found myself hobbling back to West Berlin, trying to hide the fact I was bleeding. After getting medical care I informed Mike Allen about the assault, but he seemed more concerned about the exchange being disrupted. Though the attempt had been serious, the injury wasn't, and I was able to meet Alicia, and inform her that the trade was going to come off. She was very weepy, and I did my best to comfort her, glad to know that her sister would be arriving in Berlin the next day. When I got back to the hotel, Mike had the name and address belonging to my assailant's escape car. The man was Major Kleist's aide. I went over to East Berlin and confronted him. Apparently, it was a personal thing, as he is involved with the girlfriend of the German agent being exchanged, and didn't want the trade to go through. I just kept thinking that I should be in Marrakech, and vowed never to get involved with Mike Allen again. Stayed in bed whole of the following day, having long talks with both Kate and Pete at Violet Cove. Got a blow-by-blow account of the race in which Clive finished an amazing first with Pete third. Since the contracts aren't in force, we get the prize money, but when Mastin starts footing the bill, any winnings go to the factory. After more testing at Malaga Pete's heading for a race in Egypt, so Katie and I have tentatively agreed to meet in Paris on Thursday or Friday at June's. That evening I was summoned to East Berlin, and introduced to Alicia's supposed husband, covered in bandages. But Kleist spotted my noticing that the fake Stuyvesant's glasses weren't prescription. He said that he'd have to hold me until the exchange was complete, and that a marksman would have a gun pointed at my back until the East German spy was safely over. Whether it was patriotism, a sense of right and wrong or just lunacy, despite the stab wounds, I took an unguarded moment and threw myself through the window, running until there was no longer anyone following. Miraculously, none of the stitches were broken. Lucky enough to take refuge in a place where there was high-powered archery equipment, I got the idea to shoot a couple messages into the West, saying that I would be in the firing line and the Stuyvesant being exchanged the next day was a fake. Then I turned myself in. When we went to make the trade at Checkpoint Charlie this morning, Mike Allen had a cloud of cold steam come up from the ground to obscure what happened as I got into the West and the East German was held back. A success in what was really a failure. Alicia's husband had died in prison, and Mike Allen walked away, leaving me to impart the miserable news. She was weak, but I was able to take her back to the hotel where her sister was waiting. There was a message for me at the Kempinski, with instructions to report to Mike for debriefing. Rang and said that I'd be there in the afternoon, but then slipped out a back entrance, and got the first flight to Paris. June brought Kate to Orly, and we made a swift exit with reservations booked in her name. She was feeling a little under the weather and slept through most of the flight, so I spent the time working on the race contract, 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.		The Exchange Paul is called to Berlin by CIA agent Mike Allen to act as go-between to exchange an American businessman for an East German spy, Paul to pose 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 does manage 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.

7 - 10 January 1966 ("The Assassin" / "Where Mystery Begins" part 1)