He walked into the bedroom and glanced at his watch. It was after nine in the morning.  He looked at the form lying in the bed and said gently, "Corrie, are you planning on getting up and getting dressed soon, or do you intend to go to the lawyer's office in your nightgown?"

"Yes," came the muffled answer from under the covers.  As he watched, the blanket and sheet rose slowly and totally covered what little he could see of her head.

Sighing, he walked around the bed and sat down beside the bundled lump of his new bride.

"Corrie?"

"I'm not going."

"Honey."

"No!  You go!"

"Sweetheart, you promised Corrine you would see this through to the end," he said gently.

"I lied."

"Corrie, I can't do this for you, you know that," he said softly.

"Don't you understand?  I can't do it either.  It's been too much."

He heard her muffled voice break and saw the covers shudder with the violence of her sobs.  He yanked the blankets down and scooped her up and into his lap in one swift, smooth move.  She didn't resist, but instead, wrapped her arms around his waist and buried her face in his shoulder and cried.  Seeing her cry had always disturbed him; however, this time, he was relieved that Corrie was finally giving full vent to all of the emotions, and sorrow, that had been building up these past few days.  Slowly, like a parent soothing a child, he began to rock back and forth, tenderly stroking her back.  In a small way, he wished someone would do the same for him, too.

They had been married barely seven days ago.  Corrine Matthews had risen from her sick bed and organized a simple, elegant, and touching ceremony in no time at all.  It had been her labor of love for the goddaughter she adored, and the handsome man who had won her child's heart.  Despite her failing health, Corrine had remained in the thick of the small family celebration, long after the newlywed couple had left for the secluded cabin on a picturesque lake to begin their honeymoon.  Three days later, Corrine Matthews lapsed into a coma, never to reawaken.

Control and Corrie had returned immediately to the quiet townhouse, to keep watch at the dying woman's side.  Corrie held her godmother's hand and spoke quietly to her of all the memories she cherished from having John and Corrine Matthews' presence in her life.  Corrie had only allowed herself to shed a few tears when her much loved mentor and friend had slipped the bonds of her failing body.  Instead, she began immediately to carry out her godmother's last wishes with regard to the funeral arrangements.

Those instructions were clear and to the point.  No elaborate mourning rituals.  A simple cemetery service was to be held within 24 hours of her death, with internment next to the husband who had preceded her.  Her wishes had been fulfilled yesterday, with the dignity and simplicity requested, despite the disruptive actions of John Matthews' two nephews, Rodney and Bernard.  The same minister who married Corrie and Control conducted the graveside service.  It had been interrupted briefly when the two brothers, standing off to one side, began arguing over who would take possession of which of their late uncle's properties.  Without any warning to her new husband standing beside her, Corrie had quietly reached into her purse and pulled her weapon on the two men.  In a very soft but firm voice, she instructed them to be silent until the final 'amen' was uttered, or they would be joining their departed relatives in the open grave. No one present had any doubt from the determined look on her face that she would not hesitate to carry out this promise. 

Corrie had then nodded to the mystified clergyman to continue the rite as she held the disruptive brothers at gunpoint.  Not until the Army Honor Guard had presented her with the folded flag that had draped the simple coffin of Master Sargent Corrine Elizabeth Cunningham Matthews, did Corrie return the Glock to her purse. 

As Corrie stepped over to speak to the minister and the few invited guests, the two brothers began complaining loudly about their mistreatment.  When they threatened to call the police and have "that crazy woman" arrested, Control had simply walked over to them and said, "You could try," and walked away, chuckling.

Now, in less than one hour, Corrie was due at the office of the family attorney to complete her promise to her godmother and be present at the reading of the will.  Corrine had not trusted the conniving nephews of her late husband.  She had requested that Corrie oversee the disbursement of the bequests specified in her will, to insure the items arrived in the proper hands.  Corrie had readily agreed to this request out of her love for her Godmother.  Today, however, after the incident at the funeral, she had little desire to see the two 'weasels' again, especially since her new husband had confiscated her weapon.

With all of these thoughts in his mind, Control stopped looking at his watch and allowed his wife the therapeutic time to cry.  The weasels would have to wait to get their inheritance and he was sure the family attorney would understand.  He continued to gently rock her in his arms until the sobbing stopped and the tears eventually ceased.  He handed her some Kleenex from the box at the bedside and softly whispered, "I love you," in her ear. 

Corrie sniffled noisily and looked into his wonderful blue eyes.  She smiled weakly and asked, "Even with this red nose?"

"Especially with that red nose," he chuckled, and kissed the aforementioned appendage.  "I know this has been one hell of a roller coaster ride for you.  It has been for me, too.  But I am here with you, to help you see it through to the end, for Corrine.  I promise you, the idiot brothers will not misbehave today.  Martin Abrahams' has assured me that he will have some type of security present to keep them in line."

"So what you're saying is you won't give me back my weapon?" she sniffled again.

"Corrie, I love you.  I would die for you.  But I will not give you back your weapon.  Darling, as proud of you as I was yesterday, I also know that it is not considered proper funeral etiquette to draw down on and threaten disruptive mourners.  I had to call in just a few favors last night to keep your lovely ass out of jail for that small breech of etiquette.  Remember, you already have a criminal record on file in Berlin.  The Company would not take kindly to hearing about another incident here in New York," he said into her hair.

"I should have shot them when I had the chance," she mumbled into his chest.  "I could have pleaded temporary insanity with provocation.  No jury in the world would have convicted me."

"That's very true, my darling.  From the look on the faces of the Honor Guard, I'm sure they would have gladly reloaded with live ammo, to help out.  And I know John and Corrine enjoyed every minute of it from their heavenly perch.  But now, dear, I must ask if you are ready to complete your promise?" he finished, kissing her gently on the top of her head. 

"Since I don't really have a choice, I guess I'm as ready as I am ever going to be.  Would you be my darling and pour me a very large cup of coffee, with milk, while I go and wash my red nose and face?  I promise I'll be ready before the coffee gets cold," she smiled weakly into his eyes.

"I am your devoted darling, and your adoring husband, and I will gladly pour you some coffee, but," and he kissed her tenderly, "I'm still not going to give you back your weapon." 

"You know me too well," she sighed. 

"To know you is to love you," he answered.  "Now please, get thee into the bathroom and be rid of that clown red nose!" he laughed, and stood up with her still encircled by his arms.  He kissed her once more, a long, lingering kiss, and then spun her around towards the bathroom.  "Off with you," he laughed as he attempted to swat her on her backside.  Corrie was too fast for him, however, and spun back to face him.  Sticking her tongue out at her husband, she backed her way into the bathroom doorway and gave him an enticing shimmy and shake and closed the door.

Ten minutes later, a washed, dressed and ready Corrie joined her husband in the kitchen.  Not only had he poured her a large cup of coffee, well, actually it was half coffee and half milk, he had also toasted and buttered two slices of cinnamon raisin bread for her. 

They stood in the kitchen for several minutes as she thanked him lovingly for his care and kindness.  Then, smiling up into his eyes, she told him, "Since you have been my rock through all of this, I will return the favor.  I can take the coffee and toast with me in the car and eat during the ride to the office.  That way, we won't sully that unblemished reputation for punctuality that you are so proud of.  Would that please my husband?" she asked in a sultry voice and nibbled his ear.

"Yes, it would, but not because of my 'unblemished reputation' as you call it.  I phoned Martin Abrahams while you were dressing, and the weasel brothers have already arrived, and are becoming a nuisance.  I assured him that we would be there as soon as possible, but if you don't stop that, woman, we'll never make it, on time or otherwise," he leered back at her.

"All right, let's go and get this over with," she said, not very convincingly, and grabbed her cup and toast.

They arrived at the law offices of Abrahams, Malloy, & Morrow with minutes to spare.  As they were shown into the office of Martin Abrahams, Bernard Matthews jumped from his chair and squealed, "Why is that woman here?  Did anyone search her?  She threatened us with a gun yesterday, at dear Aunt Corrine's funeral.  Shouldn't she be in jail?"

His brother simply sat up in his chair and glared at Control.  "I am more concerned with why HE is being allowed in this meeting.  John and Corrine's will was quite specific as to who was to attend the reading," he sneered.

Martin Abrahams stood behind his desk and glared at the two brothers.  In a voice that commanded total respect he told them, "Miss Corrie is here at the specific request of her Godmother, you both know that.  Her husband is here also at the direct request of Corrine Matthews.  I have a written codicil, signed by Corrine one week ago, to that effect.  I also have his personal assurance that neither he, nor his wife, are carrying any weapons, so you can sit down and be quiet, and let us proceed with the matters at hand." 

Neither brother made any comment about being spoken to in such a manner.  Corrie had the feeling that they would have stuck their tongues out at her like petulant brats, if they thought they could have gotten away with it.  Control positioned himself in the chair between Corrie and the brothers, to make sure his new wife would have to get by him first, before she could reach the weasel brothers.  Also, it gave him a perfect position to reach either one of the loathsome men, with little effort, if need be. 

Bernard and Rodney were the children of Thomas Matthews, John's only brother and relative.  They were the spoiled children of privilege and old family money.  With the deaths of their parents, they had inherited several homes and a large amount of money.   The money had been squandered and the homes sold off to support their idleness and excess.  Today, they anticipated inheriting the majority of their late Uncle's estate.

Martin Abrahams sat down behind his desk and cleared his throat.  "As you all know, the terms of John and Corrine Matthews' wills were quite specific.  Corrine, as John's wife, was entitled to the use of any and all of the properties and resources of his estate during her remaining lifetime.  Said properties and resources would then be distributed according to both of their wishes, upon Corrine's death.  Is that clear?  Are there any questions so far?"

Neither brother said a word and Corrie simply nodded.  She knew the contents of both wills and understood that John had had very strong opinions with regard to blood family and inheritance.

"Good, then we can continue.   I have here an inventory list of the personal belongings and possessions that John and Corrine specified be given to the individuals named.  You have all been given a copy of this list to review.  Again, does anyone have any questions concerning these bequests?"

"Yes," replied Rodney.  "Will you personally oversee the distribution of these items by that woman?" he asked as he glared at Corrie.  "We do not feel a woman capable of carrying a weapon and threatening people, at a funeral no less, would be very trustworthy."

Control had been gently holding Corrie's hand up to this point.  Sensing her reaction to this comment, he squeezed her hand hard to remind her to remain calm.  Corrie, distracted from her planned reply to the insult, curled her lip and blew a reluctant kiss to her husband.

Martin Abrahams turned in his chair and looked directly at Rodney and replied, "I have known Corrine Murchison from the day of her Baptism.  I would trust her with my life, and the lives of my children, not to mention the entire wealth of this city.  For her convenience, I have assigned one of our firm's most efficient secretaries to assist her in her duties.   Have I made myself perfectly clear on this matter?" he asked.

Rodney simply sniffed his disdain and waved his hand for the attorney to continue. 

Abrahams went on.  "As to the properties owned by John and Corrine, the will specifies that any and all dwellings owned outright by the Matthews, at the time of John's death, are to be turned over to Rodney and Bernard Matthews."

The two brothers almost cackled with joy upon hearing these words. 

"Therefore," continued the attorney, "I have here the deeds to the homes in Florida and Maine, signed over to both of you."

Both brothers yelped as if struck in the face.  "What are you talking about?" they both shouted.  "What about the house in San Francisco, and the townhouse here in New York?  Why aren't they included?"

Martin Abrahams smiled broadly for the first time that morning.  Looking straight at the two foppish brothers he said, "Those properties were no longer owned by the Matthews at the time of John's death."

Corrie sat in stunned silence, squeezing her husband's hand in a death grip.  "What?" was the only word she could convince her voice to utter.

Rodney and Bernard went pale.  Rodney finally managed to blurt out, "But, but, Corrine has been living in those homes all this time?  How could she, if they didn't own them?  And who does?"

Still smiling, Mr. Abrahams continued, "Your Uncle John was very concerned, and disappointed, by the debts you both were accumulating before his death.  The two properties in question meant a great deal to him and Corrine.  They held special family memories that he felt neither of you would appreciate, or consider in your hunger for money.  He, therefore, sold those properties, free and clear, before his death.  The purchasers agreed that they would not take possession of either of the homes until Corrine Matthews either died or granted her permission."

"But, but…" Bernard stammered.

"How could he do that without telling us?" barked Rodney.  "Who bought them?  Where did the money for them go?"

Corrie's mouth was opening and closing like a fish out of water, her grip on Control's hand was still vise-like.  He leaned over to her and whispered softly, "Sweetheart, you're going to hurt yourself soon if you don't relax a little bit."

Corrie turned to him and tried to say something, but couldn't force the words out.  She could only point at the attorney, and then at the two, also stunned, brothers.

"Your uncle was under no obligation to inform you of his decision," the attorney stated. "In fact, he specifically instructed me not to tell you, at the time of the closings on the properties, as he felt your conduct did not warrant the privilege.  He did not want either of you badgering Corrine, after his death, with your whining and complaining.  As to whom the properties were sold to, that is confidential information and you are not entitled to be told the identities of the purchasers," continued the attorney and childhood friend of John Matthews.   He was truly enjoying himself at this point. 

"What about the money from the sale?  And the rest of the estate?  Who gets that?" squealed Bernard, turning a surprising shade of purple.

"As you both well know, the will specifies that the remaining assets in the estate be distributed equally to the charities indicated by both John and Corrine."

Both brothers jumped to their feet in protest.  "This is insane.  We are John Matthews' only living blood heirs!  How could he do this to us?  We'll sue!"

Smiling, but with a strong edge to his voice, Martin Abrahams said, "Lawsuits are very expensive.  I would not suggest any such action, especially since there is absolutely nothing improper about this will.  John and I, his attorney, made very sure of that."  Turning to Corrie, he continued, "My dear, you don't need to remain any longer.  I have a personal note to read, from John to his nephews, that does not concern you."

Before she could croak a reply, Rodney and Bernard turned their anger at Corrie.  "This has to be her doing.  What is she getting out of all this?  The witch somehow influenced John to deny us our rights!  We won't allow it!" the men screamed.

As this outbreak began, Martin Abrahams pressed a small button on his desk phone.  The door to the office immediately opened and two very large, uniformed, security men entered the room.  The smile now gone from his face, he nodded towards the brothers and each of the burly security men stationed themselves directly behind one of the men.  Yelping in alarm, the two brothers attempted to move closer to the attorney's desk, only to be grabbed by their shoulders and returned to their seats by the guards. 

Looking directly into their faces, Mr. Abrahams stated simply, "I have instructed these two gentlemen to insure that order is retained during the remainder of this business.  They will not hesitate to use whatever force is necessary, up to and including arrest, to see that this is so.  I will not allow any attack or insinuation, by you, on Corrine Murchison.  Her only benefit from this will, besides being responsible for carrying out her Godmother's wishes, is the few pieces of jewelry that Corrine Matthews left her.  Now, Corrie," he said, as he turned to face the still speechless woman, "I will contact you later today, if it is convenient, to discuss the disbursement of the bequests."

Corrie was still unable to summon words from her throat.  Control, still holding her hand, said, "That would be fine, Martin.  Dinner tonight at O'Phelans'?"

"Sounds like a wonderful idea.  Around seven?" asked the now smiling attorney.

"That would be perfect.  And hopefully, my wife will have found her voice by then to be able to participate in the dinner conversation," joked her chuckling husband.  He then took Corrie by the arm and led her from the office.

Once outside, in the fresh air, Corrie was able to summon some of the words she had been struggling to find.  Looking up into her husband's eyes, she stammered, "What just happened?  I… I don't understand.  Please, am I really awake?  Did Uncle John really screw the boys royally?"

Her husband laughed and pulled her unashamedly into his arms.  Pulling her head back, he kissed her long and hard.  Finishing, he looked into her eyes and asked, "What do you think?  Are you dreaming?"

"Let's see," she said, "The man who doesn't want anyone to know that I know him, let alone married him, has just checked my tonsils, on a public street, in broad daylight.  No, I'm not dreaming.  I've died and gone to heaven… or is it hell?  My head is spinning so fast, I can't think.  It's only eleven in the morning, but I feel the need for a drink," she responded.  "What is going on?  Has the world gone insane?"

"Woman, all will be revealed to you in time," her husband assured her.  "But for now, I believe my number one priority is to get you someplace quiet, probably with a bar, and get a good meal into you.  You haven't eaten more than toast for the last few days and I'm sure your system is languishing from starvation.  Any preferences?" he asked kindly.

"No, I can't think clearly yet.  I am at your mercy," she replied, sighing.  

"It's a damn good thing we're married, woman," he growled.  "Any other man would jump at the chance to take advantage of you in this weakened condition.  I'm even surprised that I'm not going to try, but then again, I can take advantage of you any time I want," he leered into her eyes. 

Corrie stood silently and blinked at him.  She was thoroughly convinced that a door had opened up somewhere in the fabric of time and that she had been whisked to an alien dimension.  Nothing was making sense any more and she did not have the energy to try to sort it out. She simply nodded her head and held out her arm to this man she loved, and had promised the rest of her life to, and allowed him to lead her where he willed.

Rather than risk a new dining experience on his wife's weakened system, Control escorted Corrie to O'Phelan's for luncheon.  As Corrie refreshed her spirits with stronger spirits, he checked in with his office and then called Robert McCall.  As he slid into the booth next to Corrie, she looked up from reading the menu and asked, "Well, has the third gate of hell opened and released its demons, or have you just realized what you've gotten into by marrying me?"

"No, dear, to both of those questions.  And, for the record, I knew exactly what I was getting into when I married you.  I've had several years of on-the-job training, remember?" he smiled at her.  "The frown you see on my face is due to my conversation just now with Robert.  It seems he has gotten a little carried away with those plans of his for a quiet wedding reception."

"How 'little' did he get carried away?"  She groaned.

"He's had to book the upstairs room as well as the downstairs," he sighed.

"Let me guess, more than half my family has replied that they're coming, despite mom's plans to discourage it," Corrie replied, closing her eyes trying to picture the up-coming bedlam.

"No, your family is showing remarkable restraint, thanks to your parents," he smiled.

"Then whom has he invited?" she asked, confused.

"Well, my dear, it seems that you have a great many friends within the company ranks," smiled her loving husband.  "Word has spread rapidly through the company grapevine that you have found, and decided to settle down with, the man of your dreams.  Robert is receiving phone calls from people in just about the entire overseas network asking to attend the reception."

"Oh terrific," she sighed.  "What are we going to do, put a Nixon mask on you so no one knows it's The Great God Control I've chosen as my life mate?" Corrie asked, bewildered.  "So much for the plan of secrecy we worked out."

"Yes, it does complicate things a bit, but, realistically, did we truly have much of a chance of keeping this a secret for long?" he commiserated.

"I guess you're right.  Let's face it, Warren and Ed had been looking at me sideways for a long time now, and I'd bet my last dollar that that John knew as well.  Since the jig is up, can we invite them, too?" she wondered.

"Yes, we can give Robert their names and contact information this evening.  He, and Mickey will be joining us here when we meet Martin," he informed her.

"Oh?" she inquired.

"Ah, yes, Robert said he had some questions to ask the bride about her wishes for the reception, and Mickey being the bridesmaid…well, I thought we would get everything out of the way tonight so that we can go back into 'honeymoon mode' tomorrow.  Is that okay by you?" he asked, with a twinkle in his eye.

"Sounds like a plan.  Can I just sit here the rest of the day and drink until tonight?" she asked sincerely.

"Only if I can, too," he replied. 

Good sense prevailed, however, and the newlywed couple elected not to sink into alcoholic oblivion.  Instead, they paid a quiet visit to the recently disturbed gravesite of Corrine and John Matthews.  The new husband consoled his wife once more that day, as she let go of her pent up emotions and cried.  These were happier tears knowing that the weasel brothers would not be celebrating their good fortune tonight, at their late uncle's expense.  Sometimes good things did come out of bad.

After a short rest and change, the couple arrived at O'Phelan's to find Martin Abrahams, Robert McCall, and Mickey Kostmayer already settled in a secluded booth.  As Control and Corrie joined them, Control ordered a bottle of beer for himself and a rum and coke for his bride.

Looking from one grinning companion to another, Corrie asked the assembled men,  "Am I missing something?"

"What do you mean?" asked her favorite husband, with an odd look on his face.

"Okay, that's it.  Out with it!" commanded Corrie.  "There's something going on here.  You've got that look on your face and Robert, Mickey, and Mr. Abrahams are chatting away here like long lost friends," she demanded, looking straight at her husband.  "What's going on that no one has bothered to tell me about, up till now?"

Mickey simply shrugged and smiled his Cheshire Cat smile.

"Corrie, I think your imagination has run away with you from the strain of the past few days.  What could possibly be going on between us?" asked Robert sincerely.

"Honey, you've been under a great deal of stress since transferring here from Berlin.  What with Corrine's announcement concerning her illness, the trauma of leaving your post at the Station to come here and be just another computer geek, Corrine's health failing so fast…"

"Not to mention your rash decision to marry this man," threw in Robert.

"Thank you, my friend," replied Control.  "Sweetheart, you need to relax a bit."

"Don't!" commanded his new bride.  "I will not sit here and listen to your verbal tap dancing.  You have five seconds to tell me what is going on between the bunch of you or I will…"

"Pull your weapon on us?" asked Robert with a smile.

"No, no, I still have that safely locked away," answered Control.  "Once was enough."

"How does the word 'divorce' sound, big boy?" Corrie snapped.  "As you said, I've been through a lot the last few months and I will not hesitate to carry out my promise!"  Corrie was glaring now at all four men.

Martin Abrahams, sitting next to Corrie in the booth, patted her hand and consoled, "Don't let those two old war horses, and Mickey's innocent smile get to you, dear.  Ah, your drinks have arrived.  I would first like to propose a toast.  Please, everyone, raise your glasses and let's drink to John and Corrine Matthews, good friends, wonderful companions, and," looking at Corrie directly, "loving godparents."

In unison, the group raised their glasses and said sincerely, "To John and Corrine!"

That finished, Martin cleared his throat and said, "James, what do you suggest?  Should we order dinner first or conclude the reading of the will?"

"Conclude?" stammered Corrie, blinking again.  "What do you mean, conclude?  I thought…" but her voice failed and would not continue the thought.

The attorney smiled at the confused woman and said, kindly, "Corrie, my dear, I am afraid you have been deliberately kept in the dark concerning a few matters."

Control had taken possession of Corrie's other hand, and said, "Yes, it was for your own protection, and we all hated like hell to deceive you."

"Let me try to explain," Martin began. "About six months before his death, John Matthews contacted me, and told me that he and Corrine had decided to alter their wills.  His nephew's lack of good sense and their indulgent spending disappointed John.  Their frequent requests for money angered him greatly.  He had come, reluctantly, to the decision not to leave all of the family property to his brother's sons.  Of the four properties in question, two of them held particularly fond memories for John and Corrine."

"Yes, I know," replied Corrie.  "John had told me how he met Corrie in San Francisco during the war, and how they had been married in the living room of the house, with that wonderful view of San Francisco Bay.  I also know that the townhouse here was special because they had bought it themselves, with their own money.   The 'family' had not previously owned it."

"Yes," replied the attorney, "That was important to John, that he had earned his own way in life and had not simply lived off the family money.   John had inherited the properties in Florida and Maine from other family members.  He and Corrine seldom visited them and they did not hold the same kind of welcoming feelings."

"So they decided to sell the two homes they cared so much for," said Corrie.  "I'm glad they're in the hands of people who will love them as they did.  But what does that have to do with…"

Clearing his throat, Control said, "Remember the family reunion in San Francisco?  We stayed with John and Corrine during the 'festivities' over Christmas."

Corrie nodded.

"John approached me one day, while you were out on some family romp, and asked me to do a special favor for him."

Corrie asked softly, "A favor?"

"Yes, basically he and Corrine asked for my help to royally screw their nephews, as you so delicately put it this morning.  They had decided to leave their two favorite homes to the one person who would appreciate what they meant to them.  Someone very special, who had never asked them for anything and yet had showered them with joy and love and happiness throughout the years," he said tenderly, stroking her hand.

Corrie gasped when she realized all four men were smiling at her, and said,  "No, oh dear God, no.  I'm not…"

"A blood relation?" finished Martin Abrahams.  "No, but they loved you as the child they never had together," he said kindly.  "Your enriched John and Corrine's lives with your presence and gave them untold happiness.  And both of them knew that John's nephews expected to inherit everything as his only blood relatives.  They wanted to make sure that when the boys found out about their smaller inheritance, they would have no basis to come after you with threats of lawsuits and such."

"That's why John approached me," said Control, softly.  "He and Corrine saw that you and I were committed to each other.  And they knew that if my name were in any way involved with the sale, the weasels would find out and go after you for sure.  John asked me to feel out Robert and Mickey and see if they would be willing to act as our good Samaritans."

Corrie looked across the table at her two long-time friends.  "So you bought their homes?" she asked, a little confused.

"You could call it that," said a smiling Robert McCall.  "I believe I paid a whole dollar for the house in San Francisco, and it's contents," he chuckled.

"And I gave John my last fifty cents for the townhouse here," added Mickey. 

"John knew his nephews would be incensed when they found out about his decision," said Martin.  "He wanted everything legal and beyond criticism.  The actual sale contract stated that 'an agreed upon amount' of money had been exchanged and the properties would belong to Robert McCall and Michael Kostmayer, free and clear, upon the death of Corrine.  What wasn't in the sale contract was the verbal agreement by Robert and Mickey that, upon Corrine's death, they would sell the homes to you, for 'a mutually agreed upon amount'.   I have the paperwork here, to begin the transfer of the property.  Ah, do you happen to have $1.50 on you tonight, Corrie?"

Corrie could only blink at the attorney's question.

"You understand why we kept everything a secret, don't you, honey?" asked Control.  "We wanted to make sure that your reaction to the reading of the will would be one of genuine surprise and innocence.   It was for your protection."

For the third time that day, Corrine Elizabeth Margaret Murchison Brown could do nothing but cry in her husband's comforting arms.  After a few minutes, she wiped her eyes with the collection of handkerchiefs handed her by the men at the table and said, "Part of me wants to rip off all of your heads for keeping me in the dark all this time, but the other half loves you all more that it can say.  Yes, darling, I forgive you, and Robert, and Mickey, and Martin, for keeping this secret.  Otherwise, if I had known, I probably wouldn't have been able to keep a straight face in front of the weasel boys."

After wiping her eyes, Corrie looked around the table at the four men smiling at her.  "This is going to be some adjustment.  I've been a nomad all my life, living in rented houses and apartments.  In one week's time, I lose my much-loved Godmother and mentor, but I gain my husband, whom I adore, and now two homes.  It's just been…too much," she finished quietly. 

"We understand perfectly," replied McCall, as his companions nodded in agreement.

"I'd better head to the Little Girls room and see if I can do something with this red nose of mine," said Corrie. 

"I think the only thing that is going to help is an orange wig and a pair of big floppy shoes," a snickering Mickey Kostmayer quipped.

Control, who was in the process of standing up to let Corrie out of the booth, stopped and shook his head.  Corrie had frozen in place and was glaring malevolently across the booth at Kostmayer.   Taking her by the shoulders, he turned her around to face him, kissed her sweetly on the nose, then aimed her in the direction of the powder room and gently pushed her on her way. 

The four men watched silently as the powder room door closed.  As soon as it was safe, McCall hissed, "Kostmayer, are you insane?  Are you trying to commit suicide?  That woman is working on her very last nerve, and I wouldn't have blamed her if she had killed you in cold blood."

"I wasn't worried, Control has her gun," said Mickey, smiling.

The new bridegroom took another drink of beer and looked sternly at Kostmayer and said, "Need I remind you that you are sitting in a room full of metal utensils?  Considering her mood and the frustration she's been feeling, Corrie would enjoy nothing more than inflicting a long, drawn out torture on someone right now.  I can just see her sitting on your prone body and scooping your heart out of your chest with a soup spoon."

"Too true," added McCall.  "I wouldn't put it past her to then lay the still beating heart on a silver platter and pour brandy over it.  It would work out some of her frustrations to rub the wooden salad tongs together to get a spark to set it aflame."

"Yeah," said a reddening Mickey Kostmayer.  "What in the world made me say something that stupid?  I watched her go off the deep end on a mission once.  She…well, it wasn't pretty.  And you're right, she's dangerously close to that point now.  Remind me to keep my mouth shut the rest of the night, okay guys?" he finished.

Control and McCall nodded at their younger friend.

Martin Abrahams cleared his throat nervously and asked, "Ah, I take it this is not the time to explain to Corrie that the 'few pieces of jewelry' Corrine left her comes to 27 pieces worth well over the $900,000 it's insured for?"

"No!" said the other three men at the table, in unison. 

"Please Martin," said Control.  "Let's just order dinner and have a quiet, pleasant evening before we have to spring any more surprises on her."

At that moment, the men heard a click and saw a bright flash of light, then heard a strangely timbred chuckling. 

"Well, well, well," sneered Rodney Matthews.  "Caught in the act, as they say," he said as he turned to his brother Bernard, who was at that moment winding the film forward in his camera.

"What are you two doing here?" demanded Control.

"We're getting evidence to support our lawsuit contending conspiracy and collusion to deprive us of our rightful inheritance, that's what we're doing here," said Rodney.  "We've even got your comments about the jewelry on tape now, Martin, to support our case.  John was too soft hearted and headed to make that decision to disinherit us without some sort of interference from that she-bitch he was married to.  We're family, and it's been the rule for generations to pass down the family wealth only to blood relatives, not some pretender," he said, his voice rising as he spoke.  "Corrine Matthews was nothing more than a common tramp who lured our uncle into marrying him to get his money, and we will not have it!"

The four men in the booth sat strangely quiet, watching the brothers as they stood haughtily by their table. 

"We've hired another lawyer, Martin, and he has filed papers to halt any disbursement of the estate while we contest the wills.  Did you think you were dealing with fools?" asked Rodney.

"Yes," piped in the foppish Bernard.  "We're going to get everything we have coming to us, one way or another," he whined.

Control looked away from the two men, with a strange look in his eye.  "Yes, I can see that, but not necessarily in the manner you expect," he said softly.

Rodney Matthews suddenly stood still, the smirk on his face freezing into a grotesque mask.  He appeared to be listening intently to a voice no one else at the table heard.  After a few seconds, he took the camera from his brother's hands and placed it, and the tape recorder he carried, on the table in front of Control without saying a word.

Martin Abrahams took the two pieces of equipment and said,  "It was a very stupid thing to do to hire another attorney and come here like spies gathering information," he told the brothers.

"Yes," sighed Control.  "And after saying those things about John and Corrine, I can no longer guarantee your safety.  You've let the dogs out now, for sure."

"I agree," a soft voice hissed from behind the two brothers.  Bernard leaped away from his brother in fright. Directly behind Rodney stood an extremely unhappy Corrie, her right arm stretched up to end in a pincer-like grasp on the man's left earlobe.  "I heard every word you have just said, and I am not happy," she said menacingly.

"Someone call the police," shrieked Bernard.  "This woman has gone insane and is planning on shooting us!  Someone help us!" he whined.

"Shut up, Bernard" hissed Corrie.  "The police have already been called.  And, for the record, I am not carrying a gun.  I don't need one.  I can break your scrawny little body over my knee like a match stick, if I wanted to." 

"Yes, yes she could," said Control, seriously. 

"Agreed," replied his companions at the table.

"Corrie, let go of Rodney's earlobe," said her husband.

"Why should I?" asked Corrie, petulantly.

"Well, for one thing, you aren't your grandmother," answered her smiling husband.  "Secondly, I think you've frightened him. He's turning purple from holding his breath, and I do believe that he has just wet himself," he finished.

At that moment, two of New York City's finest entered the restaurant and were led to the booth by Pete O'Phelan.  "They're here, Corrie," she told her friend.

"Thank you, Pete," said Corrie.  "Officers, I would like these men arrested.  I will press charges against them."

"What charges?  What do you think we've done?  We've committed no crime," shrieked the two brothers.

"You have pissed me off more than I can speak," replied Corrie in a menacingly soft voice.  "I know that lying about John and Corrine in itself, is not a crime; nor is calling Corrine a tramp against the law.  How does harassment sound?  Or, maybe public nuisance?  And we can check with animal control to see if two legged weasels need some sort of license," she finished glaring at the men.

"Officers," broke in Martin Abrahams.  "There are legitimate charges that can be placed.  These two gentlemen have now broken the restraining order I had placed on them this morning, in accordance to their late uncle's will.  They were clearly instructed, by my law partners and myself, not to follow, or try to contact Miss Murchison for any reason.  Here is a copy of that order.  They must have overheard us making arrangements to meet here tonight, and evidently chose to disregard the order."

The two police officers walked up to the shaking brothers and pulled out their handcuffs.  "You two must be real heroes, coming after a helpless little lady like this," they snarled.  After cuffing their charges, they told the party where they needed to go to sign the required paperwork, and then led the two miserable men from the restaurant.

Corrie returned to her place in the booth and leaned her head on her husband's shoulder.  "Thank you, sweetheart, for taking my gun away from me.  I would have done it for sure tonight," she whispered to him.

"I know.  I saw it in your eyes yesterday at the funeral.  You'd reached that point where you could take no more from them. I've seen that look before, on men I've worked with. And to stand there and listen to those things Rodney said about John and Corrine, well, I understand how hard it was for you to not to seriously harm them.  But," he laughed, "I'd forgotten about granny and her boney fingers and the pain she could inflict on innocent earlobes.  Granny would be proud of you tonight, honey.  Gentlemen, I propose we order another round of drinks and then order some dinner.  My new bride is beginning to look peaked and I simply can not allow that," he laughed.

"Quite right," echoed McCall.  "Corrie needs her strength now more than ever.  It won't be easy being married to you," he laughed.

"Watch out, McCall.  Corrie isn't laughing at your jokes either," said Kostmayer, honestly.

Martin Abrahams sighed deeply, and said, "Yes, I could use another drink, too.   I've been an attorney a long time, too long to count.  I've handled some pretty complicated contracts and wills, but nothing to equal today.  John Matthews understood just what his nephews were capable of and planned for every contingency.  Those two idiot brothers have no idea what they have done to themselves."  And the attorney sighed again.

"What are you talking about, Martin?" asked McCall.  "Are there more provisions in that will that none of us know about?"

"Yes, I'm sorry to say, and they will impact directly on you, Corrie," he replied.

Corrie looked directly into the attorney's eyes and shook her head.  She pulled her husband's arm more tightly around her and whispered softly, "Please, not tonight.  Can we just eat dinner and pretend that life hasn't gotten any more complicated?  Please?"

The four men nodded their heads in agreement.  For the sake of friend, wife, and client, the rest of the evening was spent in quiet conversation on any topic not related to wills or inheritance.  Tomorrow would be another day.

Saturday morning found the newlywed couple seated once more in the office of Martin Abrahams.  Corrie had dark circles around her blue eyes from a night of little sleep.  Control, as her loving mate, looked her mirror image.  They held hands tightly as the attorney explained how John Matthews had planned for every conceivable action his greedy nephews might attempt in their lust for money.  By disregarding the restraining order taken out to prevent them from harassing Corrie, Rodney and Bernard had unwittingly violated the terms of the will and had forfeited their inheritance, totally and completely.  No attorney in the world would attempt to fight the provisions so accurately stipulated in John and Corrine Matthews' last will and testament.  The property and homes intended for the brothers now defaulted to Corrie.

Control looked into Corrie's eyes and sighed, "Well, dear, my count is a marriage, a funeral, jewelry, and now four homes, complete with furnishings.  Are you going to be able to handle this?"

"No," his bride croaked hoarsely.  "Martin, do I have to own four homes?"

"Corrie, you don't have to do anything you do not want to do.  The homes are yours, to do with as you wish.  Keep them or dispose of them as you wish.  It's entirely up to you.  Take your time and visit each property if you want.  You do not have to make a decision today or anytime soon.  You have all the time you need to decide," explained Martin, tenderly.

"Thank you, I think," Corrie whispered.  "If it's all right with both of you, I'd like to just kind of leave everything be for a little while.  I'd really like to get away for a few days and finish our honeymoon, and maybe my mind will clear up some to help me think this all through.  Does that sound reasonable?" she asked, looking from the attorney to her husband's loving eyes.

"Very reasonable," said Martin.  "James, as Corrie's attorney, do you need me to make that a legal pronouncement?"

"Absolutely not," replied the loving husband. "I will fulfill my wife's wishes immediately.  We will be packed and on the road in less than two hours.  Is that convenient?" he asked his bride.

Fighting back the tears that were trying to form, Corrie simply nodded her head in the affirmative.

As the night stars began to reveal themselves in a darkening sky, Control pulled Corrie down beside him on the hammock hanging on the porch of their honeymoon cabin.  Corrie wrapped his arms around her protectively, like a child wrapping herself in a favorite blanket, and laid her head on his shoulder. 

"I feel like I've aged a hundred years this past week," she whispered softly.  "Will you still love me when my hair turns totally white, which should be tomorrow at the rate I'm going?"

"I believe there is only one answer I can give to such a ridiculous statement," he chuckled in reply.  "To quote an extremely wise woman I have recently come to know very well, PIFFLE WOMAN!  Does that make you feel any better?" he asked, nuzzling her head with his.

"Yes, darling, you do have a way with words," she smiled for the first time that day.  "Honey?"

"Yes, dear."

"Do we have to answer the phone if it rings anytime in the next seven days?"

"No dear, as a matter of fact, the phone's not working."

"Oh, when did that happen?"

"Not sure.  Probably right after I disconnected the wires leading into the house, when I went out to get the rest of our things from the car."

"God bless you, my love."

"He already has.  He led me to you."

Mickey Kostmayer was whistling as he walked into O'Phelan's the following Saturday afternoon.  Spying his two friends sitting at the bar, he waved as he walked towards them.

"Have you heard from the happy couple yet?" he asked McCall, as he approached.

"I'm not sure.  There was an incoherent, giggling message on my machine last night from Corrie.  From the sound of it, she was at some public phone booth and a wild animal was growling at the door of the booth.  It boggles the mind to think…"

"Yes, that the growling animal could be Control, Mr. Charm, himself?" finished Kostmayer.

"Yes," agreed Pete, shaking her head.

"Well, the two of them are in for a rude awakening today.  I hope they got the rest they needed," said Kostmayer.

"They are going to get what they bloody well deserve for disconnecting the bloody telephone," replied a gloomy McCall.

"Is that so?" came a voice from the doorway.

"Control!" the three friends said, in unison.

"Present," came the laughing, reply.

"Me too!" came a voice from behind him, also laughing.

"Well, well, well, if it isn't Mr. and Mrs. Blissfully Happy?" smirked McCall.  "I've been trying to reach you both for four days now.  Why the hell did you disconnect the telephone?"

"McCall, old son, there comes a time in every man's life when silence becomes golden.  When no news is good news.  And when your new bride threatens to admit herself to the witness protection program if one more thing happens.  That is why we chose to remain incommunicado this past week.  No news was the best news," replied Control.

"See, he does love me," smiled Corrie, as she snuggled in her husband's embrace.

"Yecch," gagged Mickey.

"Puhleesse!" gagged Pete.

"Dear God, must we listen to this still?  I thought once you two were married, we'd be finished with this nonsense.  Please, there's too much going on today to deal with your sentimental sappiness.  This is serious business here," argued McCall.

"Okay, Robert," cooed Corrie, "just take a deep breath and relax.  Tell us, just what has my family done now?  How many thousands are you expecting today that we didn't know about?  Do we have to block off the streets and declare an impending emergency?" she asked, trying to understand.

"Yes," added Control.  "Has that evil old woman in the nasty wheelchair given you a hard time this week?"

"Very funny," sneered McCall.  "I'd forgotten you had a comedic side, old friend.  That 'evil old woman in the nasty wheelchair' has been just one of my headaches this week.  Prepare yourselves, old friends, for an onslaught today that will rival the D-Day invasion."

"Yes," added Mickey.  "I plan to find a quiet corner, with two chairs, and hunker down to watch the show."

"Two chairs?  Has Joan made it back from her assignment?" asked Corrie.

"Yes, she's on her way from the airport, as we speak.  We intend to have a very good time today," smiled Mickey.

"Joan and Mickey, sitting in a corner, K*I*S*S*I*N*G!" Corrie began to sing.

"Enough!" said McCall, raising his hand.  "You may joke all you want, both of you.   But be forewarned.  Today, this afternoon, in a very short time, there will be a large mass of people coming through those doors over there.  Among that mass will be the Company Director, no less, and a few other high placed Washington names, all of whom have asked to come to wish you both their best."

"Robert, my old friend, do you really think you can intimidate us?" said Control, seriously.  "Corrie and I have survived moles, death attempts, Christmas insanity, weasels, and worse.  These past two weeks alone saw a wedding, a funeral, four houses, and enough jewelry to made Tiffany's giggle.  Do you really think this reception could possibly faze us after all that?" 

"All right, have it your way, if you must.  All I ask is that you keep that woman and her wheelchair away from me," McCall conceded.  "She has phoned me every day this week to badger me about my arrangements and to see if she could add 'just one more person' to the guest list."

"Yes, and fortunately," put in Pete, "not even Granny can circumvent the occupancy laws set down by the New York Fire Department."

"I understand perfectly," Control sighed.  "Did you know she has a back-up wheelchair that has saw-like blades on the wheel hubs, just like Masala's chariot in Ben Hur?"

"I HEARD THAT, JAMES!" said an elderly voice from the doorway.

Thus began the wedding reception of Mr. & Mrs. James Robert Brown.

* * * * *

In the recorded history of wedding receptions, the 'catered affair' held that bright Saturday afternoon and occupying both floors of O'Phelan's, could be recorded as the most festive and gay celebration of the millennium.  A panel of judges voting this award would have observed a multitude of fascinating vignettes.

The receiving line was unique in its combination of best wishes to the couple, bawdy comments about the secrecy of their romance and courtship, and, in the groom's case, threats of bodily harm should he ever disappoint or hurt his new bride.

The arrival of the DCI caused a stir, within company denizens and family members, alike.  As a rule, Mr. Casey did not attend the wedding receptions of just anyone working for the agency.  It was quite a 'tip of the hat' to Control for his dedication to duty and his stature in the ranks of the company.  The Director had hugged Corrie affectionately; congratulating her on capturing the heart of so steeled an old pro.  Turning to Control, while shaking his hand warmly, he offered his heartiest best wishes and congratulations for having finally come to his senses.  Not only had Control found an exceptional woman to fall in love with, he had had the good sense to marry her.  The DCI then quoted from Proverbs, Chapter 31, Verses 10 through 12:

                   10      Who shall find a valiant woman?

                             She is far beyond the price of pearls.

                   11      The heart of her husband trusteth in her;

                             and he shall have no need of spoils.

                   12      She will render him good, and not evil,

                             all the days of her life.

When Warren Peterson, Corrie's superior from the Berlin Station, and his wife Alexandra, arrived, Alex winked at Corrie and confided, "Warren still doesn't believe any of this.  I told him you two weren't the mortal enemies you pretended to be, but dear Warren still thinks this is some kind of covert operation.  He fully believes you're going to come back to Berlin in a couple of weeks, and start right back driving him crazy.  I'm not sure how you're going to break it to him so he understands."

John Roberts arrived from EHQ, escorting his new fiancée, one of Control's previous secretaries, Amanda Phillips.  Amanda and Corrie hugged like long lost friends as John and Control greeted each other warmly.  Amanda handed Corrie a small package and whispered conspiratorially, "When we heard about you two getting married, all of the secretaries at EHQ pitched in and bought this for you as a personal wedding present.  Everyone figured you could use it to put up with 'Himself the Elf's' many moods.  We know you'll like it."  When the receiving line was quiet for a few moments, Corrie privately unwrapped the small, but heavy package to find a brand new Glock, with the inscription 'Til Death Do Us Part' etched on the gun barrel with an elegant flourish.  The card was indeed signed by all of the secretaries working at European Headquarters.

When, Ed Matsue, another of Corrie's old Berlin cronies arrived, he was quite upset with the bride and groom. 

"I'm just as good-looking as Mickey Kostmayer.  Why wasn't I asked to be the Maid of Honor?" he demanded, while his wife, Kyoki tried futilely to quiet him.

"I'm truly sorry, Ed," answered Control, sincerely.  "Looks had nothing to do with it.  We had to find someone at the last minute to fit the dress," he said, smiling.

Before Mickey could add his ribald comments to the discussion, Corrie quickly explained that Mickey was the last minute substitute for her cousin, Joan, and that he did not wear a dress, but a powder blue tuxedo, similar to the one he presently had on.

The two cousins had made a childhood pact to stand up to each other's weddings, and Joan had gone out and purchased a dress following the family Christmas reunion a while back, after meeting Control for the first time.  That was also the first time she had met Mickey Kostmayer, and as the family grapevine had it, the two somehow, mysteriously, have kept bumping into each other in the strangest locales around the world. Joan, it seems, is a photographer for an international news agency.  Mickey's involvement as Maid of Honor was decreed when Joan was called away on an assignment the night before the wedding.

"Well, I guess that's all right then," Ed finally allowed.  "I didn't want Mickey getting any ideas that he was prettier than me, or that he was a better friend."

Mickey, rising to the occasion, conceded to Ed, "Hey, you were there for 'The Great Cow Caper'.  How could I possibly top that?" he had asked, grinning ear to ear.

A very touching moment came when Control's father introduced Corrie to his two eldest daughters, Martha and Elizabeth.  The women had not attended the small, family wedding ceremony on the grounds that they could not get away on such short notice from their teaching duties.  The truth, as family members knew, was that the two women objected to both of their brothers' professions and had distanced themselves from their family for that reason.

Corrie's gracious and affectionate welcome had surprised the women, and also served as the catalyst to the start of wonderful family afternoon.  Before the dinner was even served, Corrie, and Paul's wife, Annie, had broken down the barriers that had separated the family for many years and the four 'sisters' had begun plans for a large, multi-generation reunion the following holiday season. 

"Now see what you two have spawned," quipped the patriarch of the family to his twin sons.  "There'll be no peace this year at Christmas."

And despite Granny Murchison's dire warnings, Robert McCall's arrangement for the affair could not be faulted.  Though complicated by the need for two full floors to accommodate the revelers, the afternoon and evening flashed by with no complications or problems, in a blur of happy celebrating few would forget in their lifetime. 

"McCall," barked the old lady in the wheelchair.

"Yes, Granny," answered Robert through clenched teeth.

"Not a bad party, for an Englishman," the old woman conceded.

"Thank you, Granny.  From you, that's like receiving the Medal of Honor," replied the satisfied friend.

"You know, if I were just twenty years younger," the old lady began.

"If you were twenty years younger, my dear, you would still be too much for me to handle at any age," replied a laughing host.

"Remember that, big boy," laughed the old woman.

* * * * * 

"Woman, where are your shoes?" asked the exhausted groom, as he climbed into the backseat of their car.

"I don't know, and I don't care," replied his also exhausted bride.  "The last time I saw them, they were flying into the crowd while your father was whisking me around the floor doing the Beer Barrel Polka," she sighed.

"Oh, I think I vaguely remember that," said her husband.  "Tell me, dearest, did your feet ever touch the ground at any time during those polkas dad had the band play?"

"Nope, only thing that saved my poor, dead feet.  I have boogied, cha-chaed, polkaed, twisted, limboed, and hokeyed my pokey till I am ready to drop.  My shoes were small prices to pay to survive the hand-to-hand combat that group called dancing.  And you, my darling, how did you fare in dance land?"

"Well, the money I paid for these steel-toed dress shoes was well spent.  I have been informed by a multitude of women what a lucky man I am to have won your heart.  I have learned that I'm not as scary outside of the office as I am inside the company confines.  And, I have been told in no uncertain terms that if I ever do anything in the slightest to hurt you, I should pray sincerely for the KGB to get to me first.  You do have a very large fan base, you know, my dear.  And that was just from the women I spoke with.  I cannot repeat in polite society any of the threats, both veiled and direct, that I received today from the male half of your fan club.  I feel…quite humbled by it all," he finished, pulling her next to him to cuddle together during the ride home.

"Well, just keep being your usual sweet and charming self and you won't have to worry about 'Corrie's Mafia' coming to find you," she whispered sweetly.  "Oh, and you'll never believe the gift I got from your old secretarial pool at EHQ.  They all remembered just how charming you were to work for back then and they gave me a special present to keep you in line."

"I don't think I want to know," answered the man cradling her in his arms.  "I'm certain, however, it isn't anything exotic, like, maybe, massage oil," he answered.

"Not hardly,'"Corrie laughed.  "I think I'll wait to tell you until I can show it to you.  Its back at O'Phelan's with the rest of the loot.  I don't know about you, but I'm glad the official reception is over.  I don't think I could survive any more fun like this.  Do you?" she sighed.

Exhaling slowly, and considering his words carefully, he replied, "I would rather have extensive root canal work done than live through another wedding reception," he said sincerely.  Then he whispered softly in her ear, "But, if that is what I would need to do to prove my love to you, I'd turn this car around right now and head back to O'Phelan's."  He pulled her to him and kissed her gently, yet passionately, then said softly, "Grow old with me, the best is yet to be!"

"Willingly and with all my love," she whispered to him.

The chauffeur for the ride home was none other than Michael Kostmayer, himself.  He had gladly volunteered to take the happy couple home, especially after hearing that Corrie's cousin, Joan, would be spending a few days in New York and would be staying with them at their town home.  Mickey and Joan did their own snuggling during the ride home and it was obvious to anyone who saw them, they planned to continue snuggling through the night.

Once they arrived at home, it took only a few moments for Corrie to tell Joan which room would be hers during her stay and just where to find anything she and Mickey might need.  Then, arm in arm, she and her beloved went upstairs to their bedroom.

"Tell me, Mrs. Brown, just how tired are you tonight?" the affectionate husband asked as he helpfully unzipped his wife's dress. 

"Hmmm, I do think I might be finding my second wind," she said in a sultry whisper as she backed up into him.  "What did you have in mind, sir?"

He had just begun to let his lips and hands do all the talking when they heard a loud crash downstairs followed a split second later by the sound of Joan screaming.

Pushing Corrie down onto the bed, Control told her, "Stay here," in a voice that demanded respect.

"Like hell," Corrie retorted, but Control was out the door and down the hallway before she could get to her feet.

Just as she was running through the bedroom doorway, she heard a gunshot, followed immediately by the unmistakable sound of a body falling down the stairs.  All feeling fled her body and a vise-like grip took hold of her heart.  Her adrenaline-propelled momentum carried her to the top of the stairway and brought her to a standstill.  There, before her stunned eyes, appeared a scene from her worst nightmares.  Corrie felt her chest contract as if preparing to scream, but no sound came out of her.

In the foyer below, to the right of the stairs, lay the body of Mickey Kostmayer.  Cousin Joan was kneeling beside him, cradling his bloodied head in her lap, rocking mournfully back and forth.  Standing over them was Bernard Matthews, holding the remains of a large flower vase that had graced the foyer table.  At the bottom of the stairs, lay the crumpled, still, body of her husband, with a pool of blood forming at his left shoulder.  A few feet from that heartbreaking sight stood Rodney Matthews, a snide smile on his lips as he continued to point his gun at his victim.

"You…shot…my…husband," whispered Corrie, barely audibly.

Three pairs of eyes turned in her direction as she began her descent from the landing.

"Shoot her!  Shoot her, now!" squealed Bernard.

Rodney stood his ground defiantly, pointing the gun at Corrie, but saying nothing.

"YOU… shot… my… husband," repeated Corrie, as she glided, ghost-like, down two more stairs.

"Don't just stand there, shoot her now, before she gets downstairs!" screamed Bernard frantically.

Rodney remained still, transfixed by the look in Corrie's eyes and the cold, dead sound of her voice.

"YOU… SHOT… my… husband," Corrie said once more, her eyes glaring a blazing trail directly at Rodney.

"Rodney, shoot her already!" Bernard whined. 

Rodney did not seem to hear his brother, nor did he move.

"YOU… SHOT… my… HUSBAND," Corrie repeated again.

"Rodney," Bernard started to whine.

"Shut up, Bernard!" Corrie hissed menacingly, as she reached the bottom stair. 

With her eyes locked on Rodney, Corrie's right arm shot out from her side.  Palm open, the heel of her hand smashed viciously into Bernard's nose with a sickening crunching noise.  The force of the blow sent the puny figure flying backwards into the hall paneling with a loud thud, and then he crumpled into a heap on the floor, unmoving.

 "YOU… SHOT… MY… HUSBAND!" Corrie repeated again, through clenched teeth, her gaze never wavering from Rodney's face.

She took three deliberate steps and arrived directly in front of the gunman.  In the blink of an eye, Corrie's left hand grabbed Rodney's right wrist, her pinkie finger expertly lodging itself behind the trigger of the gun to prevent it from firing. 

"YOU… SHOT… MY… HUSBAND!"  Corrie said directly into Rodney's eyes, her hatred and anger punctuating every word.  Using the expertise acquired from years of company training, Corrie wordlessly twisted Rodney's wrist back, and, with an audible snap, she effortlessly broke the man's wrist.  The gun fell from his useless hand and skittered across the foyer floor.

As Rodney cringed from the pain, Corrie reached out with both hands and grabbed him, catching his jacket lapels, his shirt, and the underlying flesh of his chest in her grasp.  She then pulled his six foot three inch body down to her five-foot height and hissed directly into his face, "YOU SHOT MY HUSBAND!"  Before the terrified man could utter a sound, Corrie's knee shot upwards, smashing into his groin with a nauseating squashing sound. 

Rodney would have doubled over and fallen to the ground in agony had it not been for Corrie's Herculean grasp of his upper body.  Pushing him backwards and against the wall, she held him up against the rich paneling like a woman deciding where to hang a portrait.

In a voice dripping with malevolent hate, Corrie repeated her mantra again and again, punctuating each word by banging Rodney's head against the unresisting paneling.

"You…"

Thud!

"Shot…"

Thud!

"My…"

Thud!

"Husband!"

Thud, thud!

"YOU…"

THUD!

"SHOT…"

THUD!

"MY…"

THUD!

"HUSBAND!"

THUD, THUD!

"Corrine…" his voice whispered, "I'm all right."

Corrie stopped her staccato head banging and blinked twice.  She turned slightly and saw the much-loved, pale face of her husband gazing up at her from the floor at the bottom of the steps.  Returning to face Rodney once again, Corrie released the claw-like grasp of her right hand.  Bringing her arm back as far as she could, she launched her palm forward; the blow was identical to the one she had given Bernard, with identical results.  The same, sickening crunching noise followed by Rodney's head slamming backwards into the wall.  Corrie deftly released her grasp of his torso and stepped backwards to allow his unconscious form to crumple unhindered to the floor.

Without even a glance at her handiwork, Corrie turned, took two steps, and fell to the floor next to her husband.  Gently and lovingly, she helped him into a sitting position.  With tears welling up in her eyes, she kissed his forehead and began to carefully take his tuxedo jacket off to examine his wound.

"Corrie, it's not that bad," he whispered.  "I think the bullet went right through my arm.  I flinched when I was hit and I lost my balance on the stairs and fell.  That must have knocked me out for a few seconds," he tried to smile reassuringly.  "How's Mickey?" he asked Joan.

"I think he's coming around now," Joan whispered.  "He got hit pretty hard by that flaming little weasel," she answered and spat on Bernard's still unmoving form.

As Corrie began to unbutton his shirt, Control took both of her hands by his good left hand.  "Sweetheart, I'm okay for now.  Please, go in the den and call the police.  Then, if you would, could you bring an ice bag for Mickey's head, and maybe a towel or two for my arm?" he asked, gently.

She smiled into his eyes lovingly and sniffled twice.  "As you wish," she whispered and kissed him quickly on the lips.  Rising, she hurried away to do as he instructed.

One hour later, an army of family members, friends, and company agents had gathered in the emergency room waiting area of New York General Hospital.  Small cadres were huddled together; each group making covert plans to sneak into the treatment area to find Rodney and Bernard.  The main objective of their planning was to finish what Corrie had begun.  New York's Finest was having a difficult time deciding how to disarm such a large, but politely malevolent group.  After hearing the details of the brothers' activities to date, the men in blue secretly agreed that looking the other way for a few minutes would probably be a better course of action.  At least the taxpayers wouldn't have to put out good money housing the two weasels in prison for any length of time.

Inside the treatment area, the situation wasn't much calmer.  Four examination rooms bustled with activity as four teams of doctors descended on their patients.  The teams treating Rodney and Bernard had a doubly difficult job as they were hard pressed to keep a professional manner knowing that a petite, five foot woman had done that kind of damage to two, over six foot tall men. 

Corrie and Joan, still dressed in the elegant, but now blood stained, gowns each had worn to the wedding reception, sat silently holding hands in the corridor outside Control's and Mickey's rooms.  A bevy of police investigators were hovering around them, attempting to get answers to their rapid-fire questions.  Corrie was of little help to the policemen.  She remembered nothing after the sound of the gunshot that had sent her husband tumbling down the hall staircase.  She had only been vaguely aware of the ride with him in the ambulance.  Now, separated from him, she stared blankly before her, waiting patiently to return to his side.

Cousin Joan, meanwhile, was toying with the police officers.  As the only conscious witness to the scene available to the police, she did not intend to say anything that could remotely get Corrie in any trouble.  She elaborated fully on the details of the Matthews brothers vicious attacks on Mickey and Control, but when it came to Corrie's response, well, things got a bit foggy.  By the time the officers concluded their questioning, it appeared that the two brothers had inflicted their physical damage upon themselves, with Corrie only standing by to assist them in their acrobatic maneuvers. 

After what seemed like an eternity to the women, the treatment teams finally allowed them back to the sides of their wounded men.  One reason for this concession had been to enlist the ladies help in convincing the unwilling patients to remain overnight in the hospital for observation.  This advice, however, fell on four sets of deaf ears. 

Instead of aiding the physicians in their wishes, the ladies assisted their men in escaping the hospital's hospitality.  After a few, short words to their companions in the waiting area, a diversion of epic proportions erupted to allow the ladies to sneak their trousered but still hospital-gowned men from the building.  Robert McCall was in charge of driving the commandeered escape van, while both fathers and Control's brother Paul operated as front and rear guard.  Within minutes, both couples were whisked from the hospital building and transported to a secure company safe house for the night, where a registered nurse and several company security agents were on duty.

Exhausted, but unable to sleep, Corrie and Control sat together in their borrowed bed, holding each other tightly. 

"Sweetheart, please, don't be depressed.  It wasn't your fault.  I interrupted you before you were finished," soothed the wounded husband.

"Darling, I let everyone down.  I wasn't focused enough.  When I heard your sweet voice, I…I lost concentration.  I didn't follow my training and deliver the 'kill' blow," whispered the contrite wife.  "I've failed you," she said softly, tears falling down her cheeks.

"Corrie, stop this nonsense.  Killing them would have been too good for the both of them.  You've maimed them badly and maybe now they'll think long and hard before they do something stupid again.  That is, when and if they ever get out of prison," he snickered.

"I know you're trying to make me feel better, and I do appreciate it, but, I've let you down, my family, your family, and the agency.  I had just cause, I had plenty of time, and I had the opportunity, but I didn't finish the job," she sniffled quietly.

"Darling, I saw you.  I knew you were about to deliver the kill blow to Rodney and that's why I spoke to you as softly as I did.  I didn't want you to waste your energy killing someone not worth the physical or moral effort," he told her softly.  "I know you, remember.  I know that there is still a small part of you that feels some guilt when you kill, deserved or undeserved.  It's called a conscience.  It's what keeps us human, no matter how long we've been with the company.  Rodney and Bernard just aren't worth it.  If you want, think of not killing them as your wedding present to me.  We can make a holiday excursion out of their trials.  Just think of all the twisted fun that we'll have sending them post cards from all the places we'll go while they'll be in prison.  We might even arrange some entertainment for them while they're inside. You know, like a hand picked cellmate.  How's that sound?" he asked sweetly.

"The thought has possibilities," she began to smile.  Then she sat up abruptly and without warning, punched him in his good arm.

"Ouch!  What the hell was that for?" he asked, startled by the blow.

"That, my dear husband, was for that little maneuver of pushing me down on the bed and ordering me to stay put.  What kind of macho crap was that all about?" she asked.  "Is that what 'The best is yet to be' going to be all about?  You ordering me around?"

Sighing, he answered, "That, my dear wife, was a futile attempt by your husband to protect you from danger.  Please, forgive me for that arcane gesture of love and concern for your well being.  I promise, the next time something like this happens, I will jump out of your way and allow you to charge forward in the lead.  Is that more acceptable to you?" he asked sarcastically.

"Thank you.  I appreciate having the equal opportunity of getting my head blown off for love's sake.  The next time we get married, I'll make sure it's spelled out in the wedding vows so we won't have to have this discussion again.  Agreed?" she finished, smiling.

"What do you mean, 'the next time', woman?" he smiled back at her, trying to figure out how to rub his good sore arm with his bad sore arm.