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There's No Place Like Home
by Sue Habley

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Despite the late hour, the lights were still burning brightly in his paneled office high in the non-descript government office building.  The grave yard crew paid no attention to him as they were used to the old man prowling around the corridors at all hours of the day and night.  Situation normal.

 

"Thank you, Michael," Control told his secretary.  "That's it for today.  You can go home and get some sleep.  Tomorrow doesn't look like it's going to be any better, I'm afraid."

 

"Yes, sir.  Do you plan on sleeping on the office couch again tonight?" Michael asked note pad at the ready to jot down Control's expected breakfast order.

 

"No, not tonight.  I'm going home after my meeting.  I have to make the house look as if it has been lived in while Corrie was gone.  She'll have my hide if..."

 

"She already knows," called a voice from the outer office. 

 

Michael looked at Control with something close to fear in his eyes. "Good night, sir, and good luck!" he mumbled as he exited the office quickly.

 

Corrie walked slowly into her husband's office, her hands behind her back.  Though there was a smile on her face, her eyes looked deadly serious.

 

"You're home." Control began but stopped.

 

"Yes, I finished up the last of the medical clearance and firearms certification this morning.  I now hold the record time set for field re-certification, and the dear boys at happy camp couldn't wait to get rid of me."

 

"So it appears." Control said softly.

 

"Why do I get the impression I've just walked in and found the cat straightening up the canary cage and the canary is no where to be found?" Corrie asked, still walking very slowly towards her husband.

 

Control flipped the papers he had been holding on to his desk and held out his arms in welcome.  "Last time I looked, we didn't have a canary," he said, trying to sound nonchalant.

 

"You haven't been home long enough in the past three weeks to notice if we have mountain lions in the attic or flying monkeys in the basement," Corrie replied as she rounded the corner of his desk and now stood facing him.

 

"I'm glad your home," Control whispered to her.

 

Corrie stared up into Control's face.  He was, as usual, giving nothing away by his expression.  "I just bet you are.  Care to explain a few things to me?"

 

Control lowered his arms and shifted his feet minutely.  "Of course, dear.  What's on your mind?"

 

"Well, to start with, you're the one who 'encouraged' me to go for the re-certification.  At the time, I could tell you really wanted me out of town and someplace safe for at least three weeks, so I played along.  Now I get home and find the house exactly as I left it.  You haven't slept or eaten there all the time I've been gone.  Why?"

 

Control looked over at the office couch and smiled.  "It was just easier to stay here."

 

"Sweet heart, please, it's me you're talking to.  I know bullshit when I hear it."

 

"Corrie, your imagination..."

 

Corrie gave Control her most patient look and he knew she wasn't buying any thing he was selling.  He exhaled and sat down in his chair.  Reaching over, he took Corrie's wrist and gently pulled her to sit on his lap.  Once they were both comfortably settled, Control sighed and said, "Yes, I wanted you out of town.  I was hoping I could have the present situation wrapped up before you wore out your welcome at headquarters.  But I did miss you, very much."

 

"As I missed you," Corrie replied as she caressed his face tenderly.  "Now stop avoiding the issue."

 

"You know, you can be a..."

 

"...and I will continue to be, my darling, because I love you so much.  And based on my expert knowledge of you, I can tell that whatever it is that's going on, it is not the usual Company problem requiring you to lie, steal, cheat, and be a bad ass.  This is closer to home."

 

"All right, all right, I give up.  When your sixth sense kicks in, I know it's a losing battle.  I was just hoping I could spare you some of this, but if you insist on jumping into the viper pit with me."

 

"In good times and bad..."

 

"Yes," Control whispered and kissed his wife tenderly. 

 

Corrie waited quietly as Control mentally organized the information he needed to tell her. 

 

"There have been a few developments in the Virginia farmhouse investigation."

 

"As in...?"

 

"Activity at the farm is diminishing.  Fewer and fewer visitors are showing up and, there has been an increase in clandestine dinner meetings between members of the 'club' in out of the way, dark restaurants and a lot of very public appearances with their families, all with big smiles on their faces."

 

"Ugh.  Like they are all suddenly up for family of the year?"

 

"Yes, that's the scene.  And, I'm not sure if there is an easy way to tell you, but some way, some how a certain person has been released from Federal Prison."

 

"I already know," Corrie said flatly.

 

"You do, huh?"

 

"Yes.  As I've told you before, I have connections too.  I have already sent word to the weasel that if he shows his ugly face anywhere near you, or me, or our home, I will kill him.  No questions asked."

 

"I have no doubt about that," Control said, seeing the dead expression in his wife's eyes.

 

"All right, so far you've told me that Jason's out of prison; there is undoubtedly another price tag on your head; and you expect something nasty to happen in the next few days.  What sort of meeting have you got planned at this time of night?  Is it dangerous?"

 

"Yes and no. Don't worry about it.   I'm meeting with Tom Harvick, one of my people at Langley.  He's got the name of one of the key men backing Jason and the farmhouse enterprise."

 

"You have plenty of backup in place, just in case?" Corrie interrupted.

 

"Yes, yes, I have made appropriate plans for several possible scenarios," Control assured her.  "Kostmayer and two other teams will be watching my back.  You don't need to worry."

 

"I will always worry about your safety.  It's in the teeny-tiny print of our marriage vows.  I gather you want me to just go quietly home and wait for you."

 

"Yes."

 

"And you really believe I'll do that?"

 

"If I ask you to, for my own peace of mind...  I can always hope."

 

"Hope is a wonderful thing, dear, as is peace of mind.  As you wish.  I will go home.  But beware, be careful, and, most of all, be safe!  I love you," Corrie whispered as she kissed her husband, stood up, and walked silently from his office.

 

"And I love you," Control whispered to her retreating back.

 

* * * * *

 

Two hours later, Control pulled the dark sedan up to the chain link gate supposedly securing the abandoned warehouse.  After so many empty years, the gate was just a thing for show.  This building was just one of two-dozen derelict locations Control was fond of using for his clandestine meetings.  Once a thriving, busy place, it was now home to uncounted bats, rats, cats, and bums. 

 

Before pulling off the road and into the over grown lot, Control had checked by radio to make sure that Kostmayer and his teams were in place.  He also called home.  Corrie had picked up on the first ring.

 

Even though he was a few minutes early for the meeting, Control got out of the car and walked up to the rickety gate.  The little voice at the back of his brain was whispering 'keep moving, don't just sit there'.  The little voice had saved his hide more than once before, and he had made it a point to always listen to it carefully. 

 

The inside of the building was no prettier than the outside.  It was, in fact, much worse.  Years of abandonment, squatters debris, animal waste, and God alone knew what else had left a tell tale odor.  A gale force wind shrieking through the empty panels where glass had once been could not remove the smell. 

 

He walked slowly, watching his step and his surroundings carefully, letting his eyes adjust to the gloom. 

 

He had known Tom Harvick for centuries it seemed.  Control had even stood up for Tom at one of his many weddings.  He couldn't remember which one, nor did it matter.  None of the marriages had ever lasted for more than a year or two.  Tom was an old company man like himself.  Little life existed beyond the filtered light of the winding hallways of Langley.  Tom had contacted him outside of normal channels, to tell him that he knew the name of one of the farmhouse lead players.  More than that would have to wait until they were face to face.  Control trusted Tom Harvick, but he was still deeply concerned by recent events.

 

Control walked around the entire inside shell of the building, listening intently and watching each shadow closely.  Returning to the entrance, he checked his watch and noted calmly that Tom Harvick was late.

 

Suddenly, automatic weapons fire erupted outside.  From the amount and the volume, it appeared the old building was totally surrounded by gunfire.  Who was surrounding who had yet to be determined.  Control pulled his Glock from its holster and waited in the shadows.  Whatever was coming would be there soon.

 

Outside, somewhere nearby, an engine roared and tires screeched in protest.  A heartbeat later, the dilapidated gate was rammed off its hinges by a formidable black van moving at high speed.  Control crouched in the shadows, hoping to blend into the gloom.  The van, however, was equipped with two manual spotlights that wasted no time in seeking him out.

 

As gunfire continued unabated outside, Control found himself in a terrifying game of man versus van, dodging around steel support beams and miscellaneous piles of garbage.  Whoever was driving the van was good he thought to himself, even Corrie would be impressed by his skill. 

 

Finally, as the van was skidding into a 360 degree turn to make another pass at him, Control ducked nimbly behind one of the massive steel supports still bravely holding up the sagging roof.  As the van rushed forward once more, he stepped to the side of the beam and took aim at its front wheels.  He fired several times and the van swerved to the left and then right as two tires exploded.  The driver had to work worked frantically to get the vehicle back under his control. 

 

As Control watched, the van veered away from his place in the shadows, and then, at the last second, it swerved directly at him.  He had only one second to hesitate and judge the trajectory of the careening vehicle before he attempted to spin out of the way.  His gun hand, unfortunately, did not fully clear the torpedo hurtling by him.  The impact of the van smashing into his arm spun him like an angry dervish directly into the van and then bounced him backwards into the cold, rusty steel of the support beam. 

 

Control's senses were enveloped in an explosion of bright white lights and black stars as he crumpled to the ground.  He fought to clear the nausea and pain flooding over him and make an assessment of the damages.  His right arm was useless; his gun was nowhere to be seen; His chest and too many ribs to count were throbbing painfully; His right leg was not responding to anything his brain told it to do.  Finally, there was a rather large gash in his forehead, complete with a heavy stream of blood running down into his eyes.  He'd been hurt worse than this before he told himself.  At least he still had... still had what, he asked himself?

 

The van had continued around in a wide erratic circle and finally stopped thirty feet or so in front of him, headlights and spotlights directed straight at him.  Squinting through the glare and the blood streaming into his eyes, Control could just barely see two forms emerge from the vehicle, one on each side.  The driver was a large man and he pulled a rifle out from the front seat.  He remained standing close to the van.  The second figure, much smaller in size, began walking slowly towards him.  He had a gun in his hand and stopped five feet from where Control lay.

 

Control could not see the face of his adversary, but there was no mistaking the voice.  "How very pleasant to see you again, Control," smirked the smarmy voice of Jason Masur.  "I do hope you've been taking good care of my office during my absence."

 

Control decided not to waste his breath or energy replying to the comment.  Instead, he inched himself up a little higher against the steel support.  "What can I do for you, Jason?" he asked casually.

 

"Why, nothing at all, Control.  You've already done enough meddling into affairs that are none of your business.  The time has now come to eliminate the threat you represent to me and my associates."

 

A radio crackled to life somewhere back in the glare near the van.  "Perimeter secured!" a voice barked and then went silent.

 

"Ah, it appears that you're all alone now and we hold all of the cards," Jason sneered.

 

Control met Jason's eyes with contempt. "Even if you do succeed in killing me tonight, Jason..."

 

"I would say there's no question of that," Jason broke in.  "Your security teams have been neutralized; the road is being watched to prevent the unwanted arrival of reinforcements; and unless you are expecting heavenly intervention, I'd say there is nothing to stop us from doing away with one of the thorns in our side."

 

"You may have me but you don't have Corrie.  And trust me on this one there is no place on earth that you can hide from her.  She will hunt you down, even if it takes her last breath.  And I wouldn't even relax then if I were you.  Corrie comes from a hellishly strong line of womenfolk and I doubt highly that even death would deter her."

 

Jason laughed and said, "Please don't try to frighten me by imbuing that witch bride of yours with ghostly powers.  With you out of the way, she'll be easy to..."

 

"To what?" whispered a soft, voice from behind Jason.

 

Control watched numbly as Masur dropped into a crouch and spun around, his gun firing randomly into the blinding glare behind him, searching for his unseen target.  One of Jason's stray bullets did succeed in hitting one of the van's spotlights in an explosion of brilliant sparks.  A myriad of deep, spectral shadows developed around them, made more disturbing by the continued glare of the one remaining spotlight. 

 

Once his eyes adjusted to the new gloom before him, Control lay in the shadows watching transfixed as a surreal scene continued to play out before him.

 

Jason caught sight of a black dressed figure just to the right of where he still crouched.  As Jason brought his gun to bear on his mysterious foe, the figure raised their gun from their side and fired once.  The bullet caught Masur directly between his eyes, the hole neatly connecting his bushy eyebrows.  Jason Masur slumped over on to his side, his dead eyes staring up at the sagging roof.

 

Control leaned heavily back against the support beam and closed his eyes.  He heard rather than saw the gunman walk softly over to their fallen enemy and automatically kick the gun clear of the dead man's hand.  Exhaling deeply, Control let the encroaching darkness envelope him totally.

 

* * *

 

Mickey Kostmayer adjusted the remaining spotlight on the van to better illuminate Control's position as Corrie hurried over to her husband.

 

"Mickey, where the hell are the medics?" she yelled over her shoulder.

 

"They're coming through the door as you yell, ma'am.  And the chopper is two minutes out as well."  He stepped over the inert body of the van driver and picked up the rifle lying by the dead man's side and cleared the breach.  "The bigger they are..." he said to the blank eyes looking up at him and he walked over to where Corrie and the med team were tending to Control's injuries.

 

Without warning, he reached down and grabbed Corrie's arm and pulled her to her feet.  "The boys don't need you adding any more gore to the scene," Mickey snapped as Corrie tried to pull away from him to get back to Control's side.  He only strengthened his grasp.  Corrie looked from Mickey's face to the hole he was pointing at in her sleeve.  There was a steady stream of blood oozing down her arm.

 

"Fuck it.  Give me a Snoopy band aide and I'll be fine.  That's my husband..."

 

"Yeah, and the smart thing to do would be to back off and let the pros do their job.  Think like the field op you are and not like a civilian," he barked at her, and then he released her arm.

 

Corrie glared at him for two long seconds and then exhaled softly and said, "Thanks, this time I deserved that.  My brain sometimes goes into over ride when it involves him."

 

"No problem.  That's what friends are for.  And, by the way, nice shot.  Personally, I would have tried for the heart, but that was cool," Mickey said, looking down at Jason's dead body.

 

"Had to go for a head shot.  I've never been truly convinced the jerk had a heart," Corrie answered simply.

 

* * * * *

 

Several hours later, after turning the scene over to the Company mop up crew, Mickey caught up with Corrie at the little known, fully equipped Company hospital hidden in the middle of the Big Apple.  Corrie was sitting on the floor, slumped against the wall just outside the surgical waiting room.  He walked over, leaned back and slid down the wall to sit beside her.  Cocking his thumb towards the inside of the waiting room, he asked, "No room in the inn?"

 

"Plenty of room, just too many suits for my taste," Corrie said, indicating the collection of Control's aides and other Company officers that were gathering inside and then she handed him her half finished cup of coffee.

 

Mickey nodded in agreement about the suits, drained the coffee cup and tossed it into a nearby wastebasket.  "So what's the verdict?"

 

"Better than it could have been but still not good," Corrie said tiredly.  "On the Jacobs triage-scale of worst to just bad, my husband has managed to acquire a really nasty compound fracture of the right ulna.  The bone boys are in there with their plates and screws putting it back together as we sit here.  There is also a nice concussion to go with that deep gash in his forehead; but, he's had worse that he wouldn't even take aspirin for."

 

Mickey grunted and said, "A hard head is a good thing sometimes."

 

"Yeah," agreed Corrie, "and his head can be measured on the Rockwell hardness scale.  Next comes the small miracle part.  Despite bouncing off the side of the van and the beam, there are no broken ribs."

 

"That's a miracle," Mickey chuckled.

 

"Yep, but there's a whole lot of soft tissue damage and Doc Jacobs is concerned about his triponin..."

 

"His what...?"

 

"Triponin... it's a hormone... elevated levels could indicate a lot of soft tissue damage or a heart attack.  In Jacobs own words, 'He's not a spring chicken anymore and shouldn't be going about playing dodge 'um with a full size van.  We're going to watch him like a hawk for at least eight weeks to ensure that he hasn't had a cardiac incident', and so on and so forth," quoted Corrie in a perfect imitation of the doctor's voice.

 

"Sounds like Jacobs's enjoying himself," Mickey laughed.

 

"Yeah, he's having a joy-gasim.  And bringing up the end of the mayhem list, my man has torn up the cartilage in his left knee again.  The arthroscopy boys will get their chance at him in a day or two, but first things first."

 

"It's a miracle there's any cartilage left.  Isn't it time they put in a bionic knee?" Mickey asked, shaking his head.

 

"Tell me about it," Corrie mused.

 

"Well, like you said, it's better than it could have been the way that van was barreling down at him.  You have to look at the bright side.  How long?"

 

"Oh, that's the best part," Corrie laughed.  "Jacobs has vowed to keep him in here for as long as two to three weeks..."

 

"Ouch!"

 

"Yes, even if Jacobs has to keep him sedated the entire time, to make sure he gives his body a chance to heal.  And, Jacobs promised that my beloved will not be permitted back to the office for at least six to eight weeks after that..."

 

"This I want to see," Mickey laughed.

 

Corrie didn't smile but continued her recitation of the doctor's orders.  "And during his convalescence at home, his work load will be tightly monitored and restricted."

 

"Whew!" whistled Mickey.  "I'd rather go back to Leavenworth.  It would be a lot easier breaking big rocks into little pebbles then dealing with Control as a patient for that long of a time.  What are you going to do?  Request transfer to Siberia?"

 

"Don't know... Too damn tired to think right now," Corrie sighed.

 

"I can imagine. Oh, by the way, did you have one of the croakers look at your arm?" he asked.

 

"No, one of the medics on the chopper put some stuff on it and bandaged it on the trip in.  It's fine.  I've had worse," Corrie assured him, flapping her arm like a bird's wing.

 

"Is that so?  And just what medical school did you attend, young woman?" asked Dr. Aaron Jacobs as he walked around the corner and stood in front of the two squatters in the corridor.

 

"Oh, oh," Mickey whispered as he slowly pushed himself back up the wall to stand.

 

"Don't try to run off, Kostmayer.  I have a job for you," the doctor growled, stopping Mickey from fleeing.

 

"Young woman, you are not a doctor.  I am.  And, since I am busy dealing with your equally as pigheaded husband at present, I am going to escort you downstairs and personally hand you to one of my eminently qualified ER doctors to have that wound properly cleaned and bandaged with not one word of protest from your mouth," the good doctor barked.

 

"After treatment, Mr. Kostmayer, you are charged with personally escorting this woman to her home and making sure that she gets some sleep."

 

"That's easier said than done, doc.  If Corrie doesn't want to, she won't go anywhere," Mickey replied, rolling his eyes.

 

"Mr. Kostmayer, 'she' has no where else to go.  When the surgery is finished, Control will be spending several hours in the recovery room under constant monitoring.  Corrie will not have an opportunity to see him until sometime later this afternoon.  And don't give me that look, woman.  Argue with me, and I will have you anesthetized for a week!" the doctor shouted.

 

Corrie glared at the doctor and whispered, "You could try.  You could certainly try if you think you have enough back up to get the job done, Jacobs."

 

"Fine by me," Jacobs softly replied, squaring off for a fight.

 

Kostmayer looked from one opponent to the other and listened for the sound of orderlies running to the doctor's rescue.

 

"I'll make you a deal," Corrie said, breaking the standoff.  "I will go quietly down to the ER and have my arm looked at and patched, no argument.  Then, I will come back up here and wait just as quietly until my husband is out of surgery and in the recovery room.  All I want is three minutes to be with him, to talk to him.  After that and I give you my solemn word on this, I will quietly go home and get some rest.  Is it a deal?"

 

Jacobs was a smart old war-horse and knew his adversary quite well.  After considering the deal for less than one second, he held out his hand and snarled, "Deal!"

 

* * *

 

Control felt his conscious mind being summoned up through the all-prevailing black mist he felt himself floating in.  A soft, cool hand was gently caressing his check and a quiet voice whispered to him, "You are safe and being cared for, my beloved.  Sleep quietly and do not fret.  I do so love you and will see you soon."   Control smiled to himself and let the black mists surround him totally once again.

 

* * * * *

 

Control was not a happy man, not on any of the multiple levels of his being. 

 

First of all, he hurt in more places than he wanted to think about, especially his arm.  He had broken bones before, several at a time in fact.  But this time...  And that fool doctor and his nurses were constantly trying to pump more and more drugs into him.  He needed a clear mind to think and plan what steps needed to be taken next.

 

Secondly, Dr. Jacobs was seeing to it that he was being held a virtual prisoner in his hospital room.  No one was allowed in to see him except Corrie, and even that was on a tightly limited schedule.  Didn't that fool doctor know that even with Masur dead, Control had ends to wrap up?  Masur's associates could be fleeing the country, or worse, coming after Corrie, while he just lied in bed.

 

It was infuriating!

 

"Damn it, why is Jacobs being such an ass about this?" Control wanted to know.

 

"Well, my darling, first of all you have more band aids per body inch holding you together than Humpty Dumpty did.  Secondly, you're running a temperature of 103.5 and the various witch doctors and shamans involved with your healing are concerned about the very real danger of sepsis or post-operative infection.  That's why you have that lovely bag of antibiotics dripping into your IV and the nice bag of glucose.  Considering how long it's been since the board of health inspected that old factory, I'm amazed you didn't get the creeping crud from lying on that floor," Corrie tried sympathetically to explain.

 

"I do not have the time to be lying around this hospital room!"

 

"I'm sorry, dear, but lying around time is the only thing you have right now.  I assure you, the DCI has promised me that he will personally take over the investigation into this whole sordid business and will get all the answers for you that you want.  Tom Harvick will be found, the remaining nasty boys will be collared and jailed, and I have personally dispatched a dozen crows to peck out Jason's dead eyeballs to encase in a glass paperweight for you.  Or would you prefer his balls?  They're still looking for his heart."

 

"Woman, I do not appreciate your humor at the moment."

 

"Oh, but humor is my defense against your stubbornness and ill humor, my husband."

 

"My stubbornness!  And that brings me to another issue."

 

"Yes dear, how may I ease your troubled mind?"

 

"You can explain why you lied to me."

 

"Who, me...? When...?"

 

"Yes, you!  You lied to me when you said you would go home and wait for me."

 

"No, I didn't. I said I would go home and I did.  I never agreed to stay there."

 

"You said, 'As you wish'."

 

"Ah, yes, but I was just agreeing to give you the hope of peace of mind. You jumped to a conclusion..."

 

"I jumped to a conclusion?  I see, so now I have to 'verify' the deeper meaning of everything you say to me?"

 

"No, just read between the lines just like I've learned to do with you since the day I first met you."

 

"Harrumph!" Control snorted.  "And just how did you manage to answer the phone when I called the house and you were actually skulking around that factory?"

 

"Skulking?  Please, I never skulk.  Lurk, loiter, and lounge maybe."

 

"Answer the damn question already!"

 

"My dearest cranky darling, there is this thing called 'call forwarding' which can be very effective when trying to be in two places at once," Corrie said, giving Control one of her brightest smiles.  It didn't help. 

 

"Don't be flippant with me, woman.  I'm in no mood for your evasion or attempt to humor your way out of this.  I trusted you.  You agreed to go home and..."

 

"And then Jason would have killed you as you laid there in that squalid black hole and I would be a very unhappy, angry widow right now," Corrie snapped back at him. "And then, I'd have to wait until after your funeral to go out and hunt the bastard down and kill him, not to mention all of his associates, just for good measure.  Then the DCI would have to declare me a rogue for committing all that mayhem and send Mickey and half an army out to find me and bring me back, and it would just keep getting uglier and uglier.  Darling, please, settle down, relax, and let the able bodied run through the mazes and jump through the hoops for a while.  Let your body fully heal for a change before putting on your super hero guise again.   Do it for me... for yourself... for both of us...  Please?"

 

"I am perfectly capable..."

 

"Of getting yourself sedated until the cows come home if you do not listen to your wife," snapped the good Doctor Jacobs as he entered the room.  "I still have the full authority of the DCI to do just that and you know I will not hesitate to do it again.  You might as well quiet down and give your blood pressure a break.  It's time for you to sit back for a change and let someone else save the world.  You're not going anywhere, least of all home, for a while yet.  Your body has been through more than it's share and if you don't respect it's need to heal from all the mayhem you've put it through, Corrie will still end up a widow, like it or not."

 

"Doctor..."

 

"There is nothing to discuss here, Control.  You will remain in this hospital until that fever breaks and your doctors are assured you are stable enough to go home.  Then you will be restricted to your house for six to eight weeks after that."

 

"Like hell!"

 

"This is not open for discussion or bargaining.  Do I make myself, and the DCI, clear on this matter?"

 

Control did not answer.  He sank back further into the supporting pillows and closed his eyes.  He was not a happy man.

 

* * *

 

All things eventually come to he who waits and the day finally dawned when Control was to be released from his hospital imprisonment.  It had been the longest twenty days in his memory and the collective memories of the hospital staff.  With his history for never having been a cooperative patient, steps had been taken to rotate the entire floor staff on a 48 hour basis to limit their exposure to his wrath.  This included the security guards as well.  Only his doctors and Corrie had suffered through the rigors of daily exposure to the man and his temper, and the doctors were eternally grateful that Corrie took the brunt of it.

 

Leaving the jubilant hospital staff to pack her husband off on his way home, Corrie remained at the house that morning to finish up the myriad details that needed to be ready for her husband and his traveling circus and medicine show when they arrived.  A team of nurses and therapists had invaded the house previously to discuss the changes needed to facilitate Control's recuperation.  Bathroom safety bars had been added, furniture moved to facilitate wheel chair access, as well as several other furniture additions that Corrie was sure her husband would not approve of. 

 

The security team on duty at the house had just alerted her that the convoy was leaving the hospital as she completed the last item on her list... an all important phone call home.

 

"Corrine, are you sure of this?  Do you fully realize what you are asking?" Sarah Murchison asked her only daughter.

 

"Mom, I have been thinking of nothing else for the last week.  You've raised me to be strong and to do what I needed to do to survive in life.  I have looked at this from all the angles and thought through all the possible scenarios.  This is the only viable option."

 

"I don't know."

 

"Mom, please. I am fully aware of the dire consequences I could be placing into motion with this plan.  Better the devil I know than one I've never met before.  Can I, please, borrow dad for the next six to eight weeks to help me get my husband through his recuperation?" pleaded her daughter.

 

"I still can't believe it's as bad as you say?  He's always been so strong."

 

"Yes, and like all men, he's grumpy and cranky when he doesn't have his way.  But I've never seen him this bad before.  Not ever!  And I'm totally serious when I tell you it scares me.  He's depressed.  He's never felt this useless before.  He has to sit idly on the sidelines and watch others finish his work.  He feels impotent.  I can see it in his eyes when he doesn't know I'm watching and I'm afraid six to eight more weeks of enforced absence from work will drive him insane or... to eat his weapon," Corrie whispered sincerely. 

 

"Yes, it's always hardest on the strong, independent types.  All right, if you're sure you know what you're getting into; when do you want Dad?"

 

"Give us two, three days at the max to settle him in here at home.  Is that good for you?"

 

"Yes, that's fine.  I'll have him all packed and ready to go.  But how will you justify having your father camped in your guest room for so long?  Your husband isn't stupid, dear."

 

"Oh, I have it all figured out.  Its spring - and dad is escaping the wrath of your spring cleaning regime."

 

"That's perfect!  Your father generally tries to make himself scarce during the spring upheaval.  And with him out of town, I may actually get his closet cleaned for a change."

 

"Ok, Mom, but promise me you won't throw out too much of Dad's stuff.  After all, he is on a mission of mercy," Corrie laughed.

 

"Don't worry, darling, I'll be kind and I will continue praying for the two of you," Mom promised.

 

"Any and all prayers will be greatly appreciated.  I know you'll enjoy the next few weeks alone without Dad under foot," Corrie laughed.

 

"You know your mother so well, dear.   Keep me posted on how the 'children' are playing or if you need reinforcements."

 

"Thanks a bunch, Mom!  I love you!" Corrie finished.

 

"Love you too, my only daughter," answered Mom.

 

Corrie hung up the phone and sighed.  The final piece of the plan was in place.  She had thought long and hard about this idea.  It had to work.  She would entrust her beloved husband's life and sanity to the capable hands of Robert McCall and her dad and God help any innocent bystanders.
 
* * * * *
 

The moment had come.  He was home and no longer under the ever-watchful eye of Dr. Aaron Jacobs.  Once he got a little of his strength back, he would...

 

"What the hell is that?" Control barked as his wheel chair came to a halt at the bottom of the stairs.

 

"You know quite well that 'that' is Aunt Corrine's stair lift chair.  I had it taken out of storage and temporarily put back up for your use, by order of the physical therapists."

 

"Well, you can damn well take it down because I have absolutely no intention of using it.  I'd rather crawl up and down the stairs," he growled at his wife.

 

Corrie expected this reaction from him.  She smiled sadly and said, "Ok, dear.  It is your choice.  I'll come everyday to see you.  Steve, do what you have to do," she told the male nurse who had been entrusted with Control's home care. 

 

Control grabbed ferociously at the side brake on the wheel chair with his good hand and held it fast against the nurse's attempt to back him out the door.  "What do you think you're doing?"

 

"He is carrying out Dr. Jacobs instructions.  The instructions you agreed to before he would sign you out of the hospital. Remember the 'obey my orders or be brought right back here' part?"

 

Gritting his teeth, Control glared angrily at his wife.  He'd rather die there on the spot than go back to the hospital for even one more minute.  But to be treated like a helpless invalid in his own home... that was more than he could tolerate.

 

"All right, Jacobs wins this one.  I will use the damn lift... for now.  But as soon as I am strong enough..."

 

"I will personally get out my screwdriver and return the beast to its storage place.  We got a deal?"

 

Control's answer was not intelligible.  He simply glowered as Corrie stood back and let Steve return the chair to the foot of the stairs.  The doctor won round one; little did Control know round two was only minutes away.

 

 * * *

 

Control was settled down on the couch in their bedroom near the fire.  While he glowered at Steve as he unpacked the trunk of hospital supplies that would be needed the next few weeks, Corrie had slipped downstairs and brought back a tray with some lunch.

 

"Be prepared to be pampered and well fed, big boy," she informed him on her return.

 

"I'm not hungry," he snapped, and returned to his own thoughts while staring into the fire.

 

"You will be," she smiled quietly back at him and placed the tray on the coffee table before him.  Corrie sat down gently next to him and arranged the plates and cups she had brought up for both of them.  "Darling, you have to eat.  I've made some chicken liver pate` just the way you like it, on slightly toasted rye bread.  Now please, just have a few bites and some coffee and I won't nag you."

 

Dragged back from his dark thoughts, Control looked at his wife and said very slowly while gritting his teeth, "I...am...not...hungry.  Take that away!"

 

Corrie did not reply.  Instead, she took a small bite of her sandwich.  Swallowing, she called out to Steve, "There's a plate for you down on the table in the kitchen.  Why don't you go eat while the coffee is still warm?  That stuff can be unpacked at any time, can't it?"

 

"Yes ma'am.  Lunch sounds good about now.  I'll be back in a few," he said as he walked from the room, glad for the escape opportunity Corrie was offering him. 

 

Corrie listened for the sound of footfall on the foyer tile and put her sandwich back on its plate.  Turning to the man she loved more than life, she said quietly, "One: We are not at the office nor on duty, where you, my superior, have free reign to bark and bite at me all you wish.   We are in our home.  Here, I am your wife, not your lackey.  I will not be spoken to in that tone of voice in our home.  Do I make myself clear?"

 

"Perfectly," Control replied just as softly but with his teeth locked together.

 

"Secondly, I will not spend the next six to eight weeks in constant debate and defense of the instructions given to me by your doctors.  You agreed to all of the terms and conditions of your release.  I am not inventing any new tortures for you just for my own entertainment.  Is that equally as clear?"

 

Control glared at her and nodded once.  He was too angry to make a verbal reply.

 

"And last but not least, during both of my surgical recuperations, and assorted illnesses in our years together, I did not at any time disrespect you.  I may not have been happy about my confinement or restrictions, but I certainly did not blame you for them.  I expect the same respect from you.  Have I made myself totally clear to you?"

 

Control's ill temperament would only allow a grunt for his reply.

 

"Honey, look at the positive side of things."  Corrie began.

 

"What positive side?" he muttered almost to himself.

 

"For one, you're still alive, not lying on a slab next to Jason.  And you've been looking for some quiet time to catch up on your reading lists."

 

Control did not respond, the angry look on his face said everything.

 

"I handed your 'A', 'B', and 'C' reading lists to Michael.  As soon as you drag your dark thoughts away from the fireplace, you will notice that on just about every flat surface in this house, upstairs and downstairs, large stacks of brand new books, fresh from the bookseller's shelves, have taken up occupation.  Just mention a subject, genre, or Dewey classification, and your wishes will become horses," Corrie said sincerely.

 

"And I suppose you'll read them all to me, too!" Control demanded, pointing at the awkward plaster cast encasing his right arm.

 

"I will do everything and anything I can to help you through this.  I know how you're feeling, sweetheart.  This whole thing is...is...hideous and scary.  But we will get through it, I promise.  One minute at a time, one step at a time, one day at a time, together."

 

Control did not reply; he couldn't.  He felt as if his body was trapped in plaster and bandages and the very thought of his helplessness made his stomach gall rise into this throat and choke him.  He did not see how Corrie or anyone else could see a bright side to hell.
 
* * * * *
 

Day two of Control at home exemplified Granny Murchison's old adage of "When you're on a roll, it's generally faster going downhill than up."

 

The news from the office arrived promptly at 9:00 a.m. via Michael's scheduled daily visit and it was not good.  Tom Harvick had been found, dead.  He had been shot execution style and left in the front seat of his car in a wooded area outside of Langley, Virginia.  The nasties had gotten to him before going after Control at the factory. 

 

Control had read the report from the DCI silently.  Corrie watched as he calmly dictated some memos and messages to Michael to take care of when he returned to the office.  Then, Control told Corrie and the ever-present Steve to leave him alone.  He had to make a private phone call to his brother Paul, in Chicago. 

 

When Mickey Kostmayer arrived after lunch, he found Corrie sitting at the top of the stairs with tears in her eyes. 

 

"Now that's the picture of a stalwart operative," he mused as he sat down next to her and handed her the crumpled bandana from his back pocket to use as a handkerchief. 

 

"Bite me," Corrie snapped, "It's either this or I start banging my head against the wall, and I can't do that because it might wake him up."

 

"All right, I guess it's time for you to spill your guts to old Doc Kostmayer.  Vat sems to be trubbling u my dear?" he asked in a horrible accent.

 

"Oh, let's see.  My husband, who rarely told me any of his deep dark thoughts before this, now won't speak to me at all.  He won't eat.  He pretends to be sleeping when I know he's not.  An old friend of his is executed and he doesn't even blink when he hears the news.  He makes a mysterious, lengthy phone call to his brother..."

 

"...the notorious and secretive Paul?" Mickey broke in.

 

"The same," Corrie sighed.  "And he absolutely refuses to say anything about it to me.  He took two sips of his favorite soup, just to forestall another argument, then demanded his afternoon meds and told me that he was tired and going to take a nap.  Maybe I'm over reacting, but still!"

 

Mickey chuckled to himself and put a kindly arm around his old friend and fellow field operative.  "Well, old girl, you knew when you took on this guy that life wasn't going to be any picnic.  Compared to wedded bliss like this, root canal work without anesthetic would be preferred."

 

"Yeah, yeah, you warned me," Corrie said.  "So I'm whining again, huh?"

 

"No, not whining.  I'd have to shoot you if you were whining," Mickey snickered.

 

Corrie pulled away from his comforting arm and punched him playfully in the ribs.  "Thanks, big brother.  As always, just the right yank of my chain to help me get my perspective again."

 

"That's what friends..."

 

"...are for.  I know, you said that before."

 

"Yes, and considering what you've been through in the last few months, I can't blame you if you need a reminder now and then," Mickey replied.

 

"Thanks, friend.  So, Doctor, do I just shut up, give him some more time and space, and hope Dad and Robert will be able to reach him?"

 

"Vell, dots me tinking," Mickey laughed.  "And I wouldn't be so worried about him at this point.  Despite feeling as useless as a pocket in a pair of jockey shorts, Control called his brother Paul and I'd bet the farm it wasn't to talk about how the White Sox were going to do this year."

 

Corrie took a deep breath and thought about it for a minute.  "Yeah, you're right.  Paul would be the one he'd confide in and look to for help in this situation."

 

"Yep, and I bet the boss will be hearing a lot from Paul and his shadow man, Kermit, from now on.  So, there, you have nothing to worry about...well, almost nothing," Mickey laughingly corrected when Corrie rolled her eyes at him.  "Now go and throw some water on your face, grab your purse and get the hell out of here for a few hours and let me and the security boys and Steve deal with 'himself' for a while.  Doug has the car ready for you with the motor running to make your escape.  Get that haircut you've been wanting, grab a Starbucks and find someplace busy to sit and observe life again.  That's Doc Kostmayer's advice."

 

"Danka, Herr Docktor!  I will do as prescribed.  And thanks, Mickey, for helping me keep my head on straight, as always," Corrie smiled and kissed Mickey on the cheek.

 

"No problem, but don't tell your brothers.  They'll think I'm getting soft with you."

 

* * * * *

 

Robert McCall realized he was nervous.  He was standing on the stoop outside his friends' door as he had done on numerous occasions.  This time, however, he actually hesitated to ring the bell.   'Come on,' he chided himself, 'there's nothing to be afraid of.  You're here to help out an old friend get through some rough days.  You'll be among other friends.  Frank and Kostmayer are inside.  It will be fine.'

 

The door swung open to reveal the smiling face of Mickey Kostmayer, who was chomping happily on an ice cream bar.

 

"Isn't it a little early in the day for ice cream bars?" McCall asked as he was ushered into the hall.

 

"Hazardous duty rations," Kostmayer answered, obviously enjoying his treat. "Corrie stocked the freezer full."

 

"Ah, comfort food for the weary troops.  How are things today?  Any better?" McCall asked solicitously.

 

"Well, let me think.  Breakfast went smoothly for a change.  If Control didn't like the pancakes, he kept quiet about them.  Having had his tray given away yesterday obviously made an impression on him."

 

"Wait a second," McCall broke in.  "Dare I ask for an explanation of the breakfast tray?"

 

Mickey shook his head and laughed. "You'll be sorry.  Control had been giving Corrie a hard time all morning yesterday, about things she had nothing to do with.  Then he made the mistake of complaining out loud that he was sick and tired of raisins in his oatmeal and asked why Corrie insisted on adding them all the time."

 

"But he loves her cooking.  I've never seen a man enjoy breakfast more!" McCall stated.

 

"Yeah, well, go figure, but this time, he crossed the line.  So, Corrie being Corrie, she grabbed the tray back from him and gave it to me and told me to enjoy myself.  She then whispered something in his ear to the tune that she could arrange for him to have nothing but nutritious hospital food for the next six weeks if he didn't like what she was serving at home."

 

"Good girl!  But surely you didn't eat the man's breakfast?" McCall asked.

 

"Hell, yes!  Right down to the last triangle of toast and individual orange piece.  This is turning out to be the best gig I've ever had with the Company.  Three squares a day of Corrie's cooking, and a nice warm house to do my job from."

 

"Yes, well, you'd better enjoy it now.  When Control's back on his feet, he'll see that your next assignment will be decidedly less enjoyable," McCall sighed.  "And where are the 'Battling Bickersons' now?"

 

"Control is in the living room being grumpy as usual.  The last I saw of Corrie, she was heading up to the roof with a hammer..."

 

"Why in the name of God was she going up to the roof with a hammer?" McCall broke in.

 

"I don't know.  I figured that as long as she wasn't going after Control with it, I'd just let her be.  Let her work out some pent up hostility on the shingles or something."

 

"Very wise, considering the circumstances," McCall agreed.  "Where is Frank?"

 

"He's in the kitchen getting some coffee.  Corrie left an urn full before heading skyward.  There's also a thermos of tea all set with milk and sugar for you," Mickey added.

 

"Bless her, she thinks of everyone.  Well, I guess there's no escaping this.  I have no choice here but to go in and face the dragon in his lair," McCall sighed.

 

"Yeah, well you go on in.  I'll let Frank know to bring the tea in with the coffee stuff.  And just remember, Corrie has promised us all very fine funerals," Mickey chuckled.

 

* * *

 

Control was sitting in his favorite leather wingback chair with his injured leg up on the accompanying ottoman, literally glaring out the window as McCall entered the room.

 

"Well, I'm glad to see you're up and out of bed, old friend," McCall said in greeting.  "I brought you a get-well present, but from the looks of the place, Corrie has imported an entire bookstore to keep you occupied."

 

Control turned to half glance at the book McCall offered him.  He waved vaguely towards the crowded tables stacked with tomes and muttered, "Just add it to the collection; history is over there someplace."

 

"Surely," McCall replied, trying to still sound cheerful.  "From the looks of all these books, you could easily start your own lending library."

 

There was only a grunt in reply from Control as he returned to his own thoughts, leaving McCall idly glancing at the titles of the books stacked on the window tables.

 

A few minutes later, Frank Murchison entered the living room and greeted McCall heartily. "McCall! How are you doing?  Equalize anybody lately?" The big man put down the tray of cups he had been carrying and shook McCall's hand vigorously.

 

"Frank, it's good to see you again.  And I am keeping pretty busy.  How's your lovely wife?"

 

"She's happy as a clam at home alone. She's probably hip deep in soap suds and cleaning solutions, terrorizing the hell out of any dirt or dust fool enough to enter our home.  It was either join her army and clean the barracks, or escape here and beg for sanctuary from the girl and himself.  I've done my time in the service, so..."

 

"You're a smart man.  A woman in the throes of spring cleaning can be formidable," McCall sympathized. 

 

"Damn straight," he agreed.  "I only hope I've hidden my good stuff deep enough away that she can't find it and send it all to the church rummage sale."

 

"Now, Dad," laughed Corrie as she walked into the living room behind them, "Mom has agreed not to throw all of your precious stuff away while you're gone.  She's agreed to pile it up in the middle of the basement, nice and neat, and when you get home, she plans to sit down with you and sort through it all." 

 

Turning to face her old friend, Corrie said, "Hey, McCall, I'm glad you could come.  Thanks for dropping by and visiting my beloved curmudgeon," and gave her old friend a hug.

 

"It's always a pleasure to come here, Corrie, and see you two..." McCall began, but glanced in the direction of the still silent Control. 

 

"Especially when I'm making quiche for lunch," Corrie laughed.

 

"Lunch is always a plus, of course, and your quiche would be reason enough to come out in a blizzard if need be," McCall said, giving Corrie a wink.

 

"The chef thanks you for that compliment and will now head to the kitchen and finish preparations.  You guys sit and talk and I'll yodel when lunch is ready for the table," Corrie said.  She looked over to Control who was still ignoring everything going on in the room and shook her head.  "Good luck," she whispered as she turned and headed to the kitchen.

 

* * * * *

Several long days and nights later, Corrie sat alone on the living room couch staring blankly into her mug of tea.  Her dad had gone out to dinner with McCall.  The men had hoped that Control might soften his hard outlook on life after a little alone time with his wife.  

 

Instead, Control had ordered Steve to help him upstairs to take his brother's nightly phone report in the privacy of their bedroom, as usual.  Corrie had let him know some time ago that dinner was ready and waiting but he still had not come down to eat.  

 

Corrie's frustration level was reaching its limit and she did not know what to do next.  Despite all of her efforts, her husband was closing her out and drawing in on himself more and more.  It seemed to her that she could do nothing right for him and that she was personally responsible for all that was wrong in the world.

 

Corrie was brought from her reverie by the sound of Steve pushing Control's wheel chair into the living room and parking it next to the wingback chair.

 

"I'll do the rest," Control said flatly.  "You go have your dinner."

 

"It's in the warming oven, Steve," Corrie said quietly.

 

Steve nodded and left the room.  

 

Control cautiously stood up and then looked over at Corrie.  "What?  You're not going to leap to your feet to help me change chairs?" 

 

"No.  You've made a point of doing things yourself today and I figured I'd stay clear of your wrath for a change," Corrie replied.

 

"I have not been 'wrathful'.  The only way for me to get stronger is to do things for myself."

 

"Ah, so that's your reasoning.  Ignore everyone and everything in the house, brood on your own thoughts all day, and do things yourself?"

 

Control carefully made the switch to his chair before responding.  "Corrine, if I'm ignoring everyone and everything going on around me it is because I know what you are trying to do.  You have surrounded me with books to occupy my mind; you have imported your father from his snug den in California to be my companion; and you've added McCall to the mix in the hopes of getting me involved in something, anything, to divert my attention.  It won't work; I will not be manipulated."

 

"Manipulated?  You seriously believe that I am trying to manipulate you?  Now that's a good one!  I couldn't...I can't...I..." Unable to continue, Corrie stood up and started walking from the room.  "Your dinner is on the warming tray next to you.  I'm going to get another cup of tea."

 

When she returned some minutes later, she found Control eating the last of his lamb chop dinner.  Surprised that he'd eaten a meal without any argument, she had to bite back the sarcastic comment that sprang to her mind.  Instead, saying a silent 'amen', she sat down quietly on the couch and began to absently page through a magazine.

 

After a few moments, Control broke the silence.  "In answer to your un-asked questions, no, I did not put the green beans in the potted plant, nor did I throw the potato in the fireplace."

 

Without looking away from the magazine or her tea, Corrie simply whispered, "That's nice".

 

"That's all you have to say?  No lecture?"  Control demanded.

 

"No."

 

"Oh, so now you're going to give me the silent treatment?"

 

"What's good for the goose..."

 

"Now that's just what I always love to hear, another one of your cryptic answers," Control shouted.  "How do I make you understand that I am sick and tired of you and everyone else fawning all over me every minute of the day?  Stop trying to make me do things I do not want to do!  Eat this; use the damn stair chair; get some rest; time to exercise; let me help you do that!"

 

"A minute ago you accused me of trying to manipulate you, now I'm fawning.  Have I done anything right lately?  Please, enlighten me!  Yes, I went out and got all of the books you have ever mentioned wanting in the last twelve months and made them available for you!  Yes, I asked Dad to come here and stay a while during your convalescence so you would have someone other than me to talk to, mano y mano.  And yes, I even asked McCall, a peer, to come and visit with you, too, for that same reason.  I am guilty of all of the above!  There, you now have my full confession!  Does that make you happy?" Corrie demanded.

 

"It's a start," Control hissed, "but this goes far beyond just the last few weeks at home."

 

"What?  What are you talking about?"

 

"You lied to me!"

 

"Oh my God in heaven!" Corrie gasped.  "Is that what all of this bullshit has been about?  You're still pissed because you feel I lied to you?  Just because you wanted me safe at home so you could go to that meeting alone and be the big protective man?  You would rather have died in that squalid hole than have my help?"

 

Control glared back at her but did not answer her.

 

"I can't believe this...this is...too much.  Next thing I know you'll be saying I pushed you out of the way and jumped in front of that bullet in Paris just to make you beholden to me!" 

 

"I will not be manipulated by anyone, especially you," Control whispered menacingly.

 

Corrie took a deep breath to try and settle her raging emotions.  She and Control had been together for many, many years and during those years they had fought and worked their way through a great number of issues, some easy, some painful.  Because of the shadow world they worked in, the telling of half truths was a way of life, and the art of learning to read between the lines was the accepted practice...until now.  Now, however, the game rules appeared to have changed.  It was still an allowable practice for him to tell fictions when needed, but for her, it was no longer an option.  Her status as wife, confidant, and partner had suddenly changed.

 

Blinking at this realization and its significance, Corrie sat stunned for several long minutes.  She felt as if a heavy weight was crushing down on her chest.  It hurt to breathe.  Her head was spinning like a dervish and she felt nauseous.  Finally, she gathered all of the strength that she could find and very cautiously stood up. Unsure that her legs would support her, she carefully walked the few feet to stand in front of Control's chair.

 

In a soft, defeated voice, she said, "All that I have done during our time together, I have done out of my very true love for you, and my very real concern for you.  From the very beginning of our relationship, I accepted the fact that I...our life together...would come second, behind your true mistress, the Company.  I have tried to be the strong, loving, independent companion a man of your station and character needed and nothing more.  I have adjusted my lifestyle and work habits to better conform to your life and your wishes.  I have no agenda other than being a loving wife and partner to you and making you happy.  I promised you, when we first got together, that I would never interfere or get in your way or try to hold on to you if you were unhappy."

 

"Yes, you..." Control began.

 

"No, please let me finish.  I am obviously not... My very presence seems to...to anger you.   I can't take...that.   I will...give you...what you want.  Have your lawyer draw up the papers and send them to me in San Francisco.  I will not...fight you.  I will, of course, also resign quietly from the Company.  I will not embarrass you." 

 

Unable to say anything more, Corrie turned and walked from the room.

 

"Corrine...?"  Control whispered after her, but she continued walking up the stairs.
 
* * * * *
 

Control sat frozen in his chair.  His mind refused to process the words he had just heard Corrie speak.  Some minutes later, he heard soft footsteps in the hall and the front door open and quietly click closed.  

 

Corrie was gone...

 

Control's shouts for help brought Steve and Kostmayer at a dead run into the living room.  They found him lying on the floor, tangled in the remains of his tray table.  Looking up at Kostmayer, Control ordered, "Don't just stand there.  Get outside and stop her!"

 

"What?  Stop who?" Mickey demanded.

 

"Corrie, who do you think?  I don't care if you have to tackle her and sit on her until I can get out there, but stop her!"

 

"What happened? Why is she leaving?" Mickey asked, not moving.

 

"Me, that's why!  Just stop her before she can leave!" Control shouted again as Mickey bolted from the room.

 

It seemed to Control as if ages passed before Steve could untangle him, get him back in the wheelchair and push him out to the front curb.  They found Kostmayer and the entire outside security detail standing in the street, surrounding a taxi cab with their guns drawn, ready to fire at the tires of the vehicle if need be.  Steve locked the wheels of the chair and helped him to stand.  Control waved Kostmayer and the others away from the vehicle as he slowly opened the back door of the cab. 

 

"May I please come in to speak to you?" he asked quietly. 

 

Corrie did not reply.  She silently slid to the other side of the cab as Control slowly eased himself unto the seat beside her. Steve closed the door quietly.  With a wave of Control's hand, the cab driver quickly abandoned his position in the front seat to stand outside next to Kostmayer.

 

Control awkwardly maneuvered his leg and arm to face Corrie directly while she stared blankly out the front windshield.

 

 "Corrie, I am so very sorry for hurting you like this.  I didn't mean...really...all of those terrible things.  Please, don't leave.  I know I am an idiot.  I promise..."

 

"You've made promises before," Corrie whispered.

 

"Yes, I have.  And I've then gone straight back to snarling at you and blaming you for everything when all you have ever done was love me unconditionally and risk your life to protect mine." 

 

"I'm so very tired."

 

"I know.  I really do know.  You were at the hospital every minute they allowed you; you've been cooking up a storm of my favorite meals and getting nothing but crap from me in return.  You've done everything you could to help me and I have not appreciated it one bit.  In my anger and frustration with myself, I've been lashing out at you unmercifully. Please, please try to forgive me." 

 

"I have never, ever tried to manipulate you."

 

"I know that.  You have always allowed me free reign.  You love me in spite of myself.  Why, I still don't know."

 

"I've only wanted to help you, to be your life partner."

 

"Yes, darling, I know that.  I've always known it.  It's just that, well, I'm angry with myself.  My male pride and husbandly ego wanted to handle this situation alone, without your help, to spare you any more pain or hurt, and yes, be the big protective man.  I wanted to be the one to hand you Jason's head on a platter."

 

Corrie looked up into his eyes and asked in a whisper, "With an apple in his mouth?"

 

"Yes, just for you, but I got messed up instead," Control whispered back.

 

"No one could have judged the trajectory of that careening van correctly, no one.  That's one reason we take backup with us, for the just-in-case events.  But you didn't want me there to back you up..."

 

"Yes, that is true, I didn't want you to be there, to have to witness the 'just-in-case' happen if something went wrong and I got hurt...or killed.  I love you and didn't want to put you in that horrible position.  And now, encased in plaster and crap, I hate feeling this useless.  I have never been any good at sitting quietly and letting myself heal, or letting someone help me or take care of me.  And before I met you, I never let anyone get close enough to me, to love me, especially as much as you do.  But please believe me, the one thing that I love about you the most, that first attracted me to you, is your strength and your ability to stand up to me and face me down.  You are my equal and my soul mate, my love.  Forgive me for not giving you the credit and respect you deserve, as a field op and, most importantly, as my love, my life mate, my wife.  I will not forget that ever again."

 

Corrie looked up into her husband's eyes and then took his left hand in both of hers.  "You know how much I love you.  I would die for you, willingly."

 

"As would I, for you," Control whispered.

 

"Could you have sat at home and patiently waited like you wanted me to?"

 

"No..."

 

"I know that you love me, and want to protect me if you can.  It's a guy kind of thing.  And I know how hard it is for you to accept help, from me or anyone else to do the simple things each day.  That's why I've been so worried about you all this time.  I was afraid that I might lose you."

 

"You didn't have to worry so much.  I may be older, but I can still bounce."

 

"Darling, this was far more than merely physical injury.  You were hurting deep inside yourself and I could not reach you there.  You were depressed, withdrawn, and I was really afraid that..."

 

Finally realizing just what was at the core of her concern, Control said earnestly, "Darling, I won't say that I have never thought of taking the easy way out if I was ever badly injured and couldn't take care of myself.  But that was before I met you, before I realized what you meant to me.  Corrie, you are my reason for living; you are my reason for getting up each morning; I look forward to each day with you, loving you, and being loved by you.  I could never, ever kill myself now that you are in my life - you are my life.  Please, come home."

 

Control put his good arm around Corrie and pulled her closer to him.  They clung to each other quietly in the back seat of the taxi for a long, long time before going back into the house to begin their healing process and the rest of their lives together.

 

* * * * *

 

Life in the old townhouse settled into a quiet routine in the weeks that followed.  Control kept his word to Corrie and kept his inner monster under tight restraint and visitors were no longer leery of dropping by. 

 

One morning, Robert McCall found Mickey Kostmayer sitting outside on Control's front stoop when he arrived for his scheduled visit and luncheon with his old friend.

 

"Aren't you supposed to be on the inside guarding the door?" McCall inquired.

 

"I should be, but I'm on 'special duty' today.  The boys want advanced warning when Corrie gets home so that they can clean up their act in the living room," Mickey chuckled.

 

"Oh, do say.  Just what are they up to this bright morning that requires forewarning?  And, not to be too inquisitive, where did the lady of the house venture off to?  She promised to make lunch," McCall finished.

 

"Corrie got a call to rush over to Martin Abraham's office first thing this morning.  You know that she sold those other two old houses her aunt and uncle left her?"  Mickey asked.

 

"Yes, that huge monster in Maine and the palatial mansion in Palm Beach, it was a miracle they sold so fast."

 

"Yeah, well, with the good comes the bad.  The furniture from those monsters has begun arriving by moving vans and has already filled up the warehouse Corrie rented."

 

"Filled up the warehouse?" McCall asked incredulously.

 

"Yep, to the rafters as I understand it and there's still more coming.  Evidently John's family never threw anything away.  The movers found stuff squirreled away even in the garages and out buildings."

 

"Good Lord!  Poor Corrie, this is just what she didn't need."

 

"Yeah, well, anyway, left to their own devices, Control and Frank started sorting through all of those books Control's gotten as get well presents."

 

"Let me guess," McCall broke in.  "They were irresistibly drawn to the one subject Corrie was hoping and praying they would avoid."

 

"While the cat's away..." Mickey chuckled.

 

"I suppose I should get in there and make sure things don't get out of hand.  Once more into the breach," McCall mumbled as Kostmayer opened the door for him.

 

"Good luck, McCall," Mickey called after him.

 

* * *

 

"And what justification do you have for saying that the Union commanders were far superior to their Confederate counterparts?"  Control was demanding of Frank Murchison as McCall entered the living room.  "Just because the North won the war doesn't mean that the South was lead by idiots or incompetents!  Hell, most of them went to West Point just like their Union counterparts!"

 

"Gentlemen, please, that war is long over and considering your wife and daughter's remonstration about reliving it again, I would suggest you both go to neutral corners," McCall advised without saying hello.

 

"McCall, my little girl doesn't mind if we discuss the Civil War, she just doesn't want us re-enacting it," replied Frank tartly.

 

"Yes, I'm sure there is a fine distinction there that I'm missing.  For my edification, Frank, just what seems to be the cause behind the ban by every sensible living Murchison woman to the men-folk from discussing that war?" asked McCall.

 

"Yes, Dad, just what is the big, dark family secret?  Corrie won't say anything other than the topic of the Civil War can not be brought up if there are more than one Murchison male of any age present in a room," put in Control.

 

"She never told you the story, huh?  Well, it was a pretty dark day in the family history," Frank replied.

 

"Would you enlighten us, please, Dad?" Control asked.

 

"If you want, I'll tell the story.  As you would imagine, there Murchison's on both sides of the conflict between the states."

 

"No, really?" Control broke in.

 

"You want to hear this or not?" Frank asked.

 

"Sorry, Dad.  Go on," Control replied.

 

"All right.  Anyway, it tore up the family pretty bad back then and some of the old wounds still haven't totally healed."

 

"That happened in a lot of families," McCall sympathized.

 

"Yes and there are still some Murchison's who will not speak to others because of the side their forbearers chose so many years ago.  To make a long story short, my mother and father were born into families on opposite sides of the conflict.  Dad's grandfather was a Johnny Reb and mom's granddad was on the Union side, but they never carried on about it like some of the other branches of the family did.  Until..."

 

"Oh, oh," murmured Control.

 

"It was Christmas, 1954.  Corrie was about five, no six then.   The Charleston contingent of the family was hosting the holiday get together that year and there must have been about thirty or forty families camped out around the old family property.  While the women were chattering and cooking in the main house all day, the men would gather by an old outbuilding near the river and fish and talk to stay out the womenfolk's way.  Somehow, someone brought up the war, specifically Sherman's March."

 

"This doesn't sound good," McCall put in.

 

"Well, no, and it didn't turn out too good either," Frank sighed.  "One thing led to another, one side wanted to prove their point to the other, and the next thing you knew, a full fledged re-enactment was going on complete with burning fields and scorched earth."

 

"And...?" Control asked.

 

"Somehow, we burned down the old family house," Frank said quietly.

 

"What?" Control and McCall gasped.

 

"Like I said, one thing led to another and we managed to do what the actual Civil War hadn't.  We burned the darn thing to the ground, along with the barn and the outhouse.  No one was hurt, thank God, but my beloved mother damn near divorced my father because of it.  She blamed him for the destruction.  She said a man who worked as a forest ranger should have known better than to light a match when the fields were so tinder dry.  She didn't speak to him for months after that and it was her edict that the Civil War was no longer a topic to be discussed by the men within the family."

 

"And she's seen to it that the order has been carried out," McCall put in.

 

"Would you argue with my mother, Robert?" asked Frank.

 

"With Granny, no, definitely not," he replied.

 

"Nor would I," added Control.

 

"And there in lies the tale of why Murchison men are honor bound not to discuss the Civil War," ended Frank.

 

"As with everything else I've heard about your family, Frank, that's an amazing tale," put in McCall.  "However, you said that the ban applied only when there were more than one Murchison male in a room."

 

"Yes," replied Frank.

 

"Well, surely the ruling does not apply here?"

 

The three men looked from one to the other as the thought took hold in their brains.

 

"I'm only married into the family.  It shouldn't apply to me," Control said.

 

"And my family tree stayed in England, like the sensible people they were," added McCall.

 

"True," whispered Control, "so, as long as we don't try to scorch the earth..."

 

"Or use real ammunition..." added Frank.

 

"We are not bound by the family edict," ended McCall smiling. 

 

"That may be true, Robert, but in consideration of my wife's sanity level, especially during these trying times, let's not get too carried away when she is in the house."

 

"Very wise, I'm sure.  So, gentlemen, what was the question put forth?" McCall asked.

 

* * * * *

 

Much later that evening, after the fires of battle had burned down to embers, Control sat upstairs in their bedroom, listening quietly to his brother's nightly report.

 

"I do not doubt your findings, Paul. I know that the Honorable Senator Claremont has had it in for me for a long time, and would be perfectly happy to display my head on a pike outside his office door.  I just can't picture that pompous windbag as the type of pervert to be involved in this sort of...venture.  The question now, however, is how do we break the solidarity of Claremont and his mentor Davidson and the rest of the farmhouse clients?" Control asked.

 

"Yes, short of catching them with their pants down, it will take a lot of ingenuity to spook one of them so badly that we draw them out of their comfort zone," Paul agreed.

 

"True, very true, but I think I may be getting an idea on how to do just that," Control mused as he glanced over at Corrie on their bed across the room. She was sitting propped up on some pillows, her eyes closed and an ice bag resting on her head.  There were pages and pages of inventory lists lying around her.  "Yes, I really think Corrie's presence there could help jump start a little action between our players and possibly give her a bit of diversion and maybe some tension release."

 

"I take it you've been your usual charming self lately," Paul commented dryly.

 

"Well..."  Control began, "yes, I have been.  I took all of my frustrations and anger with myself out on her and pushed her to her limits.  I hurt her..."

 

"What?"

 

"Relax, brother, I didn't hurt her physically.  Her fan club would have skinned and gutted me if I so much as raised a finger.  What I did was far worse.  I lashed out at her and I hurt her emotionally, with my coldness and anger.  I...I almost, no, I did...drive her away.  She was going to leave me and was ready to give me a divorce.  I had to beg her to forgive me, to stay and give me one more chance."

 

"She has been greatly worried about you, little brother, and with just cause.  Remember, I know you and how you think and what you feel.  I give her a lot of credit for still being there in spite of your ever so pleasant self."

 

"I agree with you.  And on top of having to deal with her favorite curmudgeon, she now has to deal with a ton of furniture that's been arriving from her aunt's estate.  The woman who can pack her personal possessions in two small suitcases now has to deal with a warehouse full of stuff and decide what to do with it all.  My biggest concern now is that if I let her flee the asylum to go help you, we'll never get her to come home again.  She'll go under cover so deep, not even Granny will be able to ferret her out."

 

"Corrie and Annie are a lot alike; both women are too good for the likes of us.  And getting away for a day or so might just be the best thing for Corrie right now.  Since she doesn't have to worry about you anymore, she can forget the furniture for a while and get some catharsis from a few random acts of violence here," Paul laughed.

 

"Yes, a little catharsis would be good for her," Control agreed, "and kicking some senatorial butt and driving them from their hiding places would be just the ticket.  I'll talk to her when she wakes up from her furniture induced nightmares and sketch out my ideas to her, then get back to you.  And Paul, thanks," Control finished.

 

"Thanks for what?"

 

"For everything you're doing for me, and for caring about my wife, too."

 

"She loves you, Jim.  That counts for a lot in my book."

 

"Mine too," whispered Control.

 

* * * * *

 

 

Late in the afternoon, three days later, Control walked slowly into the living room with the aid of a cane and a smug smile on his face.  The physical therapist had declared his knee no longer required the use of the wheel chair, and he had just heard from Paul.  He sat carefully down in his chair and looked across the room to where McCall and Frank Murchison were occupied with trying to set up a diorama of the Battle of Chancellorsville.  "McCall, go home and take Frank with you!" he barked without preamble. 

 

Before either man could respond, Control grabbed the small radio sitting on his end table, keyed the tab and snapped, "Kostmayer, get in here."

 

"So quickly back to your old charming self," McCall commented.

 

"McCall, I don't have time for this.  I want you and my father-in-law far away from here before my evening guests arrive.  Do I make myself perfectly clear?"

"You could at least have said 'please'," McCall ventured as he and Frank dropped their toy soldiers and found their coats.

 

"In your perfect world, McCall, there is time for pleasantries.   Not in mine.  I'll let you know when it's safe for Frank to come back.  Good night, gentlemen," he said dismissively as Mickey Kostmayer came into the room.

 

"Yes, boss," he said as he halted just shy of the chair.

 

"My wife has spun her very best magic in the corridors and back rooms of Washington and we can expect guests sometime within the next hour.  There should be three people in the car when it arrives.  Warn the security squad to watch for followers or other uninvited guests," Control said.

 

"Already, huh?  She didn't waist any time.  But only three people in the car?"

 

"Yes, Corrie is still in Washington, watching for developments there.  I gather she had so much fun beating the bushes and scaring the hell out of the people in them that she doesn't want to give up her catbirds seat watching the rats abandon ship," Control laughed.  "Her brother Frank is there with her to keep her in line and Paul and Kermit are accompanying our guest here."

 

"Ok, good.  Frank will make sure she stays out of trouble, even if he has to duct tape her into submission.  I'll alert the troops," Kostmayer smiled and left the room.

 

Turning the living room lights lower from the control knob on his end table, Control settled himself into his chair and quietly awaited his guests.  A dozen thoughts ran through his mind and a cold, merciless fire burned in his heart.  It had been one hell of an emotional roller coaster for both he and Corrie since the farm house in Virginia had first been uncovered.  Added to the previous aggravation he endured at the hands of Senator William Claremont during his semi-official witch-hunts, Control had good reason to want the man's heart roasting on a spit in the fireplace.  This evening's meeting would tie up a lot of loose ends and a few dead bodies into a neat and ugly package that could ruin the careers of quite a few of the movers and shakers in Washington.  That thought brought no joy or sense of great accomplishment for him.  It was a part of his job, as loathsome and despicable as it got.  He had handled a great many dirty and ugly jobs over the years.  Once again the thought flickered through his mind that maybe it was time to turn this job over to someone younger, with more stamina.  Then, the mental picture of Corrie wrapped totally in duct tape came to him and he found himself chuckling.  He knew he could and would continue the fight.

 

* * *

 

"Senator Claremont, welcome to my home.  I hope the ride up from Washington was agreeable with you?" Control smiled pleasantly but his voice was full of sarcasm.

 

"No, it was not, sir!  It was bad enough that your two 'henchmen' here have been going around Washington making uncomfortable and embarrassing inquiries about me.  But then you sent your pet maniac to follow me everywhere, to my home and my office and official meetings.  She was tossing morgue photographs of a dead man at me and my associates, chirping at every chance, 'I did that'!  That woman should be institutionalized!"

 

"'That woman', Senator, just happens to be my wife and I would watch what you say about her from this point on," Control whispered menacingly.  "Considering the mental anguish some of your perverted friends have caused her, you should be very grateful we kept her under tight 'control' during her visit to the capitol.  She has quite a large scrapbook of incriminating photos of her own and she would have preferred to use some of the more 'unclothed' ones in her quest for truth and justice.   Now, sit down so that we can conclude this matter once and for all."

 

Paul and Kermit moved quietly over to the senator and he quickly sat down in a chair opposite Control.  The two men then stationed themselves between the Senator and the door and windows.

 

"I will not mince words, Senator."

 

"You have no authority to hold me or interrogate me.  I am a Senator..."

 

Control's face turned to thunder and he snapped angrily, "There you are wrong!  I do, and I will!  You and your Capitol Hill fraternity club have knowingly and wrongfully been accepting illegal monies from certain dubious lobbyists and questionable overseas businessmen to fund a deviant squat house for your own perverted interests.  And do not waste your breath trying to deny it; we have all of the proof we need to send you and your associates to federal prison in disgrace for a very, very long time."

 

"I have rights to..."

 

"You have nothing.  Not anymore.  Several of the men funding your house of sin happen to be backed by certain well known terrorist organizations around the world.  These organizations are presently engaged in planning the destruction of American embassies and overseas installations and the deaths of hundreds, if not thousands, of American citizens.  It is only a matter of time before they begin their attacks here on our home soil.  That makes you a co-conspirator...and a traitor to your country!"

 

The senator turned deathly pale and dumbstruck as the full meaning of Control's words sank in.  "I...I..." he stammered over and over again. 

 

"You are not only a pervert, you are a disgrace to your family and friends, to your constituents who trusted in you, the people of America, and every decent man, woman, and child on this earth who bears a conscience.  Bringing men like you and your ilk to justice makes my job almost palatable."

 

"I had no idea..."

 

"Save it for your lawyer.  I have no wish to hear your sniveling excuses.  My only interest in bringing you here was to see your face first hand when you were confronted with the ugly truth about your misconduct.  Now my job is done.  My associates here," Control nodded towards Paul and Kermit, "will now have the distasteful job of delivering you to the federal authorities who will be responsible for your safety and well being...if that is at all possible.  You are now a marked man, sir, and your one and only chance of surviving this will be to cooperate fully in the upcoming investigation.  God help your family."

 

Claremont could say nothing in response to Control's derisive words.  He could barely get to his feet as Paul and Kermit prepared to lead him out.

 

"Paul, Kostmayer has a backup car and unmarked escort to get you to the transfer point.  When you're done, you both can come back here and wash the stench of this honorable citizen off yourselves."

 

"Thanks.  We appreciate that.  But throw in a bottle of the good brandy to get the taste of this out of our mouths, too."

 

"That's a deal," Control agreed, almost smiling.  With no further comment to the senator, Paul and Kermit escorted him from the house.

 

* * * * *

"Gentlemen, I believe we have a great deal to discuss..."

 

Control, Frank, and McCall froze in place and then turned slowly in unison towards the dining room door where Corrie stood with her arms crossed in front of her.

 

"Corrie, what a surprise...you're home already!" Control said quietly.

 

"I knew it was too much to hope for when I walked into the living room and found two empty card tables sitting in the middle of the room.  Just what do you boys plan on doing on the dining room table that you couldn't do on the two folding tables?"

 

Before any of the men could answer, the front door opened and a large sheet of rough plywood came through the door and headed down the hallway to the dining room.  All Corrie could see of the team behind the moving wood were feet and hands so the scene had a slightly magical aspect to it.

 

"Oh gentle wood spirits," Corrie called, "what do you think you're going to do with that plywood?"

 

The plywood halted in mid-float and silence hung heavily in the air.

 

Finally, knowing he had no other course of action, Control walked gingerly over to Corrie and gave her a welcome home kiss on the cheek. "Good to have you back, dear.  Look, no wheel chair!  I have a cane now!"

 

"Yes, I see," Corrie smiled sweetly.  "Maybe you should keep it away from me until we clear up the plywood question."

 

"Uhm, yes, the plywood.  We have been trying to figure out how to get the proper proportions to our Chancellorsville mock up.  The two card tables just weren't right and we thought that maybe by putting the plywood on the dining room table..."

 

"Hold it right there, General.  No one is putting plywood on top of the dining room table!  I'm sorry to ruin your plans guys, but that rough plywood will scratch and gouge the surface of that mahogany table and my aunt will rise from her grave to seek vengeance.  You're going to have to think up another plan of action.  Do I make myself understood my little wood spirits?"

 

"Perfectly." said the mumbled voices of Mickey Kostmayer and Jacob Stock as the plywood began to slowly move backwards down the hall and out the door.

 

Control turned from his wife's unhappy face to his father-in-law and said, "I told you she wouldn't go for that.  Have you got any more brilliant ideas?"

 

* * * * *

 

The following weeks passed in relative peace at the New York townhouse, largely secluded from the uproar and house cleaning occurring in the rank and file of Washington, DC.  Though they received daily progress reports, they felt their mission was completed and the matter no longer concerned them.  Even with most of the danger past, however, security guards still watched over the house.  But all was peaceful, most of the time.

 

Corrie spent her days in a frenzy of inventorying furniture and bric-a-brac and dealing with auction personnel and antique dealers at the bigger warehouse she had been forced to rent.  She would hurry home to feed her husband and his companions and then collapse in exhaustion. 

 

The men went about their days happily converting the newly purchased display tables in the basement into an exact replica of the landscape surrounding Chancellorsville, Virginia, during the dark days of 1863. 

 

While Frank Murchison and Robert McCall had chosen to represent the Army of the Potomac during the coming battle, Control had enlisted Mickey Kostmayer to join him in the Army of the Confederate States of America.  War clouds were growing darker over the little battlefield.  Each side was working earnestly to portray the terrain as accurately as possible.  No bush or tree or fence was ignored, much to Corrie's consternation.  The men even had their own personal contact at the FAO Swartz toy store on speed dial alert. 

 

In between the procurement of foot soldiers, cavalry, gun battalions, and the like, Kostmayer scoured junk stores and flea markets to find suitable background decorations to complete the heroic ambience of the room. 

 

His most fabulous find came from Corrie's own warehouse when some large wooden boxes and trunks of vintage clothing arrived from the house in Maine.  While waiting for Corrie to finish her counting one night, Mickey literally stumbled on a small replica Civil War cannon which had been used for starting boat races and county fairs in days gone by.  Corrie was horrified at the sight of the cannon and wanted to dump it in the East River without hesitation.  However, using every bit of his boyish charm and his most convincing smile, Mickey assured her that he would see that the weapon could no longer be fired. Then he gleefully took it and added it to his collection of artifacts.  

 

By the time he completed his stage dressing efforts, an invisible Mason-Dixon Line divided the basement into North and South and resembled fully-operative field command posts for both sides.  The stage was set.

 

* * *

 

Corrie was busy assembling the ingredients for dinner when Control walked cane-free into the kitchen to show off his attire for the battle. As he moved towards her in his Confederate general's uniform, she gasped and felt an almost electric charge jump through her entire body.  The gray wool material flattered his tall, now very lean, frame and the attached cape flared from side to side as he walked.  He had his right arm in its sling under the jacket with the empty coat sleeve pinned up, the badge of the wounded soldier.  The gleaming brass buttons on the double-breasted coat were half unbuttoned revealing the collar of the fancy white linen blouse underneath.  The black leather military boots were highly polished, and he was holding a pair of suede riding gloves in his left hand. 

 

Fanning herself with a potholder, Corrie said softly in her best Southern belle voice, "My, my, my.  There is certainly a great deal to be said about a handsome man in uniform.  I do believe the very sight of you is giving me the vapors, sir."

 

Control touched the brim of his general's hat complete with plume and drawled, "I am at your service, ma'am, and ready to assist you in your dire need."

 

"If you only knew what my dire needs were, big boy," Corrie whispered in a sultry voice.

 

Smiling, he bent down and gently kissed her on the cheek.  "I can guess," he replied. 

 

Corrie just smiled up into his eyes.

 

"By the way, do you know what today is?" he asked casually.

 

"Uhm, Sunday?  But that's as far as my brain will go.  There's something about owning twenty-seven separate and complete sets of dinnerware that can cause grey cell overload.  Give me a clue, please."

 

"What if I said 'a lovely spring afternoon'?"

 

"Gee, that's helpful.  Be a little more specific, please."

 

"How about the Berlin airport?"

 

Corrie gasped and thwacked herself in the head with the potholder.  "Oh my God, today's the anniversary of our first meeting, at the passenger pick up."

 

"When I so graciously threw up on you," he chuckled.

 

"Yes, now how could I forget such a wonderful, romantic first meeting with my beloved?" Corrie laughed with him.

 

"And despite the vomit, despite all of my many wonderful moods, you've managed to put up with me and actually stay with me through better and ever so much more worse," he told her.

 

"I'm a glutton for punishment, I guess.  Happy anniversary darling. But I feel so stupid; I don't even have a barf bag to give you this year."

 

"Well, I have more than enough of them sitting in my office desk drawer, so don't let that bother you, dear."  Control then reached awkwardly into his jacket and brought out a small purple velvet covered box and held it out to Corrie.  "Darling, to quote your very words to me, 'I got you a little something to remember me fondly by.'  Thank you for loving me, and putting up with me, and letting me and my friends play war games in the basement.  I do love you."

 

Corrie took the box and with shaking fingers pulled it open.  Resting on the lush inner velvet was a delicate pair of gold earrings.  The lever back ear loops each had a magnificent twinkling blue opal, Corrie's birthstone, which anchored a dangling gold charm exquisitely detailed to resemble a tiny gold airline barf bag.

 

"Ohhhhhhhh..." was the only sound Corrie could make as she willed the tears to stop welling up in her eyes.

 

Control, ever watchful, put his good arm around Corrie's waist and pulled her to him. Whispering huskily into her ear, he said, "What would you say to the idea of giving Dr. Jacobs the slip for a few days and the two of us sneaking off to the cabin this week?"

 

After so many long weeks of work and worry, nursing care and aggravation, dealing with the tons of stuff life had been throwing at her, and sublimating her own needs and feelings, Corrie felt her knees would give out at the very thought of what he was suggesting.  Suddenly, she jumped back from him and stared open mouthed.  He had copped a feel of her breasts with his injured right hand through his jacket!

 

"Oh...my...dear...sweet...Lord," she gasped.  "Are you getting frisky with me?"

 

Control pulled her back against him and leered down into her eyes.  "What say we don't wait to get away next week, and tonight, after the battle is over, you let your general show you frisky and take care of all your dire needs, ma'am?" he finished in a drawl.

 

"If you promise to bring the hat..." Corrie began, but his lips covering hers smothered any further words.

 

"Control," called Mickey Kostmayer a split second before he bounded into the kitchen in his immaculate Johnny Reb uniform. 

 

Both husband and wife groaned deeply at the interruption and pulled reluctantly away from each other.

 

"Oops!  Damn!  Sorry!" he stuttered as he about-faced and hurried back out the door the way he came.

 

"What is it, Kostmayer?" Control asked through clenched teeth.

 

"Sorry about that...really...Uhm, the guys were wondering if you were up for…shit...for the battle... and all...I'll just go…back... and tell them you're busy...Uhm," he stammered.

 

"No, just go back downstairs.  I'll be right behind you," Control sighed.

 

As Mickey fled the scene, Corrie started giggling like a mad school girl at the look on her husband's face.  Control made a valiant effort not to start laughing with her and loudly cleared his throat to say, "I guess it's time to start the battle."

 

Clutching her hands to her chest in a pleading gesture, Corrie sing-songed between giggles, "Promise me, oh promise me, you'll stay safe and come home to me, your loving wife?"

 

Control pulled her roughly to him one last time, and in his deepest bass growl said, "My darlin', I have to do what a man has to do. It's the code of war!  Remember me as a man who stood up for his beliefs and the rights of the Confederate States of America!"

 

Control kissed Corrie deeply, stepped back, clicked the heels of his boots together, gave a quick bow, about-faced, and walked from the room.

 

Unable to stand up anymore with so many emotions swimming about inside her, Corrie flopped down on the seat of the breakfast nook.  Picturing again the surprised look on Mickey's face as he had walked in on them and the exasperated eye roll of her lover in return, Corrie laughed helplessly, fanning herself with the potholder.  Then she noticed again the small velvet box still clutched in her hand.  As she remembered those long ago events in Berlin, and the meaning behind the gift, all of the suppressed emotions of the last eleven weeks rose to the surface and she started to cry...and kept crying until she could cry no more.

 

Then wiping her eyes with the potholder, she stood up, squared her shoulders, and was again prepared to do battle with the monster meatloaf she was planning for her hard fighting armies.  It had been a long haul and they still had a long way to go, but things were looking up!  Life might just yet get back to normal one of these days!  Whatever normal was.

 

* * * * *

 

The peripheral lighting in the basement had been turned low to highlight the fluorescent whiteness illuminating the miniature battlefield.  Neatly printed markers indicated sites and landmarks with strange sounding names such as The Wilderness, Ely's Ford, Orange Turnpike, Catherine Furnace, Hazel Grove, Brock Road, Salem Church, and Rappahannock River.  Each of the miniature trees, fences, roads, and marshes were detailed as accurately as possible.

 

Music from the long ago era came softly from the stereo speakers mounted on the walls.  Battle hymns joined spirituals and popular tunes of the time in a continuous flow.  Frank Murchison and Robert McCall were immaculate in the dress blue uniforms of a Union general and his stalwart colonel.  Each man appeared as if he had just then stepped out of a Matthew Brady print. 

 

"Gentlemen," Control intoned as he joined the three men waiting around the table, "let us not forget during this intellectual exercise that brave men actually died fighting this battle so long ago."

 

"Here, here!" they responded as one.

 

"Now then, to quote the Bard, 'Cry havoc!  And let slip the dogs of war!'"

 

The afternoon hours blazed past as the four men called forth ghostly warriors by the names of Jackson, Lee, Hooker, Early, Stuart, Couch, and Sickles as they parodied the dead men's exploits.  Armies advanced and retreated; strongholds were held or broken; heroic men died heroic deaths.  At the end of the great battle, defeat and retreat faced the Union Soldiers and jubilation arose from the Confederate troops.

 

"Well, Frank, what do you think?" Control asked his father-in-law as taps played softly over the broken battlefield.

 

"Damn it, I think Hooker was an idiot!  If he had continued the pursuit, he would have surely won the field!  But he turned tail and ran!"

 

"Yes, that is a possible scenario.  But Hooker was on your side.  This whole discussion began with your statement that the Northern commanders were far superior to their Southern counterparts," Control stated quietly, an evil grin on his face.

 

"Dang it!  You're going to make me eat crow, aren't you?" Frank Murchison cursed as he snatched up his smart blue hat from its position on the counter next to Mickey's most prized decoration.

 

As Frank Murchison yanked his hat from the counter, the general's emblem caught in the lanyard of the cannon's firing mechanism.  As the hat arched through the air in an angry flare, the lanyard extended to its maximum length, the hammer mechanism engaged, and the supposedly unarmed cannon fired one last shot across the battlefield.  Four brave men were knocked backwards off their feet by the concussion of the blast in the confines of the basement room. 

Much worse, however, were the concussions that followed as the shot sped on its journey through the enclosed heating plant, which sent a back flash up through the line blowing up the kitchen stove; then it continued through the laundry room, severing the water connection to the house; and finally coming to a rest in the dead center of the electrical boxes on the far side of the basement, which sent a power surge throughout the house, exploding light bulbs and electrical outlets, and igniting dozens of small fires in its wake.

 

And then smoke and darkness covered the battlefield.

 

* * *

 

In the small recovery room of the discrete Company hospital, Corrie groaned deeply as she fought her way up through the blackness she had been swimming in.  A comforting hand touched her face and his reassuring voice whispered, "Rest easy, sweetheart.  You're safe and I am here with you."

 

"Anyone else?" she attempted to ask.

 

"We're all in various stages of ambulatory.  Don't worry.  Rest is the best medicine for you right now," whispered his voice.

 

Content, Corrie let herself drift back to the blackness of sleep.

 

  * * *

 

Corrie awoke fully late Tuesday afternoon.  Control was sitting by her bedside holding her hand, as he had been each time she had briefly opened her eyes previously.  He had obviously ignored Dr. Jacobs' admonitions not to sleep in the chair beside her bed.  Corrie's nose was broken, both her eyes were swollen shut, and she had a three-inch gash in the back of her head.  Her entire body was covered with bruises and abrasions.

 

"Ok, dear, let me see if I have what you've been telling me straight in my addled head.  Dad blew up the house."

 

"Accidentally," Control interjected.

 

"With the cannon that Mickey swore to me would never fire."

 

"Uhm, he was mistaken."

 

"So much for our weapons expert.  The cannonball went through the furnace."

 

"Yes, which back-flashed upstairs and blew up the kitchen stove."

 

"Then it broke the water connection to the house."

 

"Which caused the fire sprinklers to fail."

 

"And ended up taking out the electrical boxes on the far wall."

 

"Which caused surges throughout the house that exploded lights and outlets, and started fires just about everywhere," Control finished.

 

Corrie groaned.  "And the insurance has..."

 

"...declared the house a total loss," Control said softly.  "But on the bright side, as you're always telling me to look..."

 

Corrie tilted her head at a ridiculous angle and managed to pry one eye open just a tiny slit and said, "Be careful what you say next."

 

"Ok, ah, no one was killed; we all got out of the house alive; there were only very minor injuries to just a few of the neighbors; and I love you, very much," he finished.

 

"And just how 'alive' are the four of you?"

 

"Your dad was released from the hospital yesterday with a dislocated shoulder and is presently being escorted back to your mother by your brother, Frank."

 

"Good luck, Dad," Corrie prayed.

 

"McCall was also discharged yesterday with a broken collarbone and is resting at home with his pain pills and classical music."

 

"I'm sure he's glad he has a home to return to."

 

"And Kostmayer, who had very minor cuts and bruises and wasn't hospitalized..."

 

"Figures."

 

"...has requested immediate transfer to the hottest hot spot we have going, as long as it is far enough away from you to keep his scalp intact."

 

"Smart move on his part.   And you, my darling?"

 

"I landed on the couch behind me and am no worse for the wear, thank you.  Guess I had my quota of broken bones this year already."

 

"For that I am truly thankful," Corrie sighed deeply.  "How bad are the neighbors?"

 

"Minor cuts and scratches to about five of the neighbors and quite a lot of broken glass," he reported.  "I believe I've rounded up every glazier in the boroughs and they are now working up and down both sides of our block and the surrounding streets and everyone will be back to normal by the end of the week."

 

"Normal...what an interesting word that is."

 

"The fire department and the insurance company are both finished with their investigations.  They told me that you were very lucky."

 

"Oh, really?  Do tell."

 

"If you had been walking into the kitchen instead of walking out at the time the stove blew up, you wouldn't have..." Control stopped and took Corrie's hand in his.

 

"I would now have a pot lid permanently imbedded in my teeth instead of a three inch gash in the back of my head," Corrie finished for him.

 

"Yes, and fortunately, it was a glancing blow.  The pot lid ricocheted off the door frame before hitting you and sending you flying into the wall."

 

"Yes, it could have been ever so much worse than it was.  How did you manage to get everyone out of the house?"

 

"It was easier than you think.  The four of us in the basement just crawled out the new hole in the back wall.  While McCall and your dad went out front to wait by the street, Kostmayer and I ran up the back stairs.  The blast had blown the door off its hinges so we had easy access to the house.  Just as we found you in the hallway, the security detail kicked in what was left of the front door and met up with us and helped carry you outside. 

 

"That beautiful heavy oak door," Corrie said sighing.

 

Clearing his throat, Control continued, "There is a recovery team at the house now, bringing out what can safely be salvaged.  Some areas are a bit unstable.  When they are finished, a demolition team will come in and bring down what is left.  I'm so very sorry, honey."

 

"Please, don't apologize again.  I told you, it's ok.  But right now, all I want to do is go back to sleep. My head feels awful.  Could you ask the nurse if I can have another pain pill and more ice for my ice bag, please?"

 

"Of course," Control answered and immediately got up to fulfill her request.  He'd have brought her the sun, moon, and stars if he could he was so grateful that she would be all right.  But his guilt over what happened was nearly overwhelming.  How could he make up for blowing up his wife's house and all of her possessions and damn near killing her?

 

* * * * *

 

Some days later, Dr. Jacobs was finally satisfied that Corrie was able to go home.  She could see a little out of both eyes and she didn't fall down every time she tried to stand up.  And to make sure she obeyed his instructions, the ever-watchful nurse, Steve, went home with her.

 

Control reluctantly agreed to Corrie's request to go by the house before taking her to his old bachelor apartment, their new home for the present.  He helped her gently out of the car and she stood silently at the curb watching the crews dismantle the townhouse.  Though he studied her face closely, he could not tell what she was feeling because her eyes were hidden behind oversized sunglasses.  As they watched, however, a workman walked by and casually tossed the broken head of one of Corrie's favorite gargoyles into the dumpster.  Control was sure that despite the din of the clean up work, he heard Corrie sob.  Without a word, she turned and climbed back into the car.

 

* * *

 

As Steve helped his patient settle into bed, Control made a cup of apricot tea for Corrie and carried it to her in the bedroom.  She was sitting up in bed against a mountain of pillows, under one of Granny's crocheted blankets, her eyes closed despite the fact the window shades were drawn.

 

"Here's the tea I promised you," Control said as he placed it on the nightstand and sat down in the bedside chair.  "Michael must have been out shopping for 24 hours straight.  The kitchen is stocked full with all of your favorite things."

 

"Bless him," Corrie whispered.

 

They sat in silence for several long minutes.  Control desperately wanted to pull his wife into his arms and hold her, comfort her, and promise to make everything better, but he knew her equilibrium was still out of whack.  And the last thing he wanted to do was make matters worse, if that was at all possible.

 

"Is there something else I can bring you?" he asked finally.

 

"No," came her barely heard reply

 

Unable to stand another long silence between them, Control carried on his attempt at breaking the ice.

 

"Sweetheart, are things ever going to be okay between us?  Can you ever forgive me?" he asked.

 

Corrie opened her eyes and looked over at him and sighed.  "How many times do I have to tell you, its okay?  I am not angry; I still love you, as much as ever, and my father, and McCall, and even Mickey," she said softly.

 

"But you haven't said more than two words at a time."

 

"That, dear, is because I'm not sure my head is still attached and I'm still learning how not to breathe through my nose."

 

"Honey, I'm sorry..."

 

"Stop it, right there!" Corrie demanded.  "You will please answer this one question for me.  Did you enjoy the mental diversion the Civil War problem gave you while you were stuck at home for so many weeks getting back on your feet?"

 

"Well, yes, I did enjoy it.  In fact, I enjoyed it a great deal.  It was a stimulating exercise in tactics and maneuvers from a bygone age, far different from what we have to deal with now.  But..."

 

"There are no 'buts' allowed.  If you were happy and enjoyed the exercise, then I am content.  A busted nose and a bunch of stitches are a small price to pay for my husband's sanity."

 

"Honey, the damage went far beyond your nose and stitches.  The house..."

 

"How long have you known me, big boy?" Corrie said and closed her eyes again.  "A house is a collection of bricks and boards piled up and shaped like a box.  The box is then filled up with stuff.  None of it is important since bricks and stuff can be replaced.  What cannot be replaced are the people wandering through that box of stuff.  And I am so thankful that all of the very important people that I love so dearly, you being number one on top of that list, came out of this with only minor injuries."

 

"Thank you for putting me on the top of the list and not at the bottom, I think.  But this was Corrine's house."

 

"Yes, this house was very special to John and Corrine.  They wanted me to have it because they had been so happy there and wanted us to be happy there too.  And we were, but it was still their house, not ours.  And if you want to get technical about this entire issue, this whole thing was their fault since the cannon belonged to John's family."

 

"I think you're reaching now, dear.  The cannon was not originally in the basement.  Kostmayer found it in the warehouse and brought it over."

 

"Ok, maybe I am stretching a little.  Now I will say this once more, please listen carefully.  I love you so very much more than a box of stuff.  You are my life.  Do you understand this?"

 

"Yes.  And I love you the same.  I just didn't want to repeat your grandparent's rift, especially after..."

 

"For one thing," Corrie broke in, "I am not Granny.  And as for the second issue, we have already worked that out.  Pax?"

 

"Peace!"  Control whispered and leaned over and gave Corrie a gentle kiss on her lips.

 

"There is one thing, though."  Corrie began.

 

Control sat still in the chair.  "What's that?" he asked cautiously.

 

"What happened to that amazing hat and cloak?"

 

 

* * *

 

A few weeks after being cleared to return to the office, Control came home to their apartment and found Corrie lying on the couch with her ice bag again resting on her head.  He sat down and laid her head gently on his lap and stroked her furrowed forehead.  "And what new wrinkle in time and furniture is troubling you now, my dear?"

 

"No new wrinkle, thank heavens, just the ever present old ones.  Here, the antique boys gave me the auction estimates they are expecting once they set a date and get the mega-catalog printed."

 

Control glanced through the binder of paper Corrie gave him and whistled long and low.

 

"Mother of heaven, this is a king's ransom!"

 

"Yep, and those are just the low estimates.  Many of the pieces should bring in much more since they are one of a kind or rarely put on the market items.  I just can't believe what they think twenty-seven separate and complete sets of dinnerware are worth!  For dishes!  It's insane!  And, the auction boys are literally licking their collective lips.  Martin is getting anxious about all of this too, so I told him I was turning the final financial decisions of how to distribute the monies over to you."

 

"Me?  Thanks a bunch!"