Chapter 2: Acceptance

That night, I wasn’t sure how to approach Karen about the possibility of me not returning. I didn’t expect it to happen, but it was a reality. Karen and I had been through a lot over the previous three years. I worried about what could be the outcome of my decision. If the mission failed and I was lost, there would probably be no compensation from the government.

Karen had a hunch that something was amiss.

“James, out with it, what has you upset?” She asked, concerned. “Is there something at school that has you worried?”

“Everything at school is fine. Lawrence came by my office this afternoon with two men from the government. I can’t discuss the details of what they want me to do. I can tell you if I accept it, I will be away for several weeks, if not longer.”

“I don’t like you not telling me; that’s not what we agreed on when we married. We both promised there would be no secrets between the two of us,” Karen stated irritably.

“It’s not because I don’t want to, but because I can’t. We’d be in a lot of trouble if I did,” I explained.

“Not to worry, I’ll have Camilla worm it out of Lawrence at home,” Karen told me. “A fresh baked pie, and he is putty in her hands.”

We both laughed at the idea of tough guy Lawrence capitulating. Camilla turned him into a pussycat with her cooking. Camilla was an excellent chef, and that was one of the reasons he married her. Grandma Jorgenson had done an excellent job of matching those two.

The next morning, I contacted my buddy Lawrence at work and asked him to meet at my office after lunch.

Around two pm, I heard a knock on my door. I looked up, and there was my pal Lawrence, still looking embarrassed.

“You want to tell me your involvement in this cloak-and-dagger adventure, my friend?” I inquired, a bit peeved.

“I didn’t have a say in the matter,” he lamented. “The higher-ups ordered me to make the introductions and then step aside.”

“OK, I don’t like being forced into something. Depending on the outcome of this, I will decide if I want to avail myself to the FBI in the future.”

“I understand,” said Lawrence.

“Lawrence, I’m in need of your skills. I need a handgun that is difficult to detect without a patdown. I am afraid that with them in charge, I’ll be forced to provide for my own protection.”

“Since you are going to become a super-secret spymaster like James Bond, why not emulate him?” asked Lawrence. “Get a Walther PPK and a spare magazine. If it was good enough for Bond, it should be good enough for you.”

We arranged to visit a gun store frequented by him and other FBI agents on the following Saturday. He stated he knew the business had competent yet discreet salespeople.

That Saturday morning, Karen and I went to Lawrence and Camilla’s apartment. Lawrence drove us an hour south and west of Chicago to a small, unassuming gun shop. Karen stayed with Camilla to practice the dark arts of kitchen wizardry, better known as cooking.

A sales associate recognized Lawrence, greeted us, and asked what he could do for us. Lawrence informed him I was the customer, and I had some specific requirements. After asking to see my FOID (Firearm Owner Identification Card), he asked a series of pointed questions, and he was able to determine what I had in mind. The sales associate then set about trying to put together a solution to fit my needs.

After shooting several small-caliber handguns, both American and European-made, it was determined the Walther PPK was the best solution. Ian Fleming knew what he was talking about when he had James Bond carry one. The resident armorer/gunsmith took over from the sales associate. He asked me a series of questions. After noting my wants and needs, the smith went into the back room for several minutes and then returned with a PPK. He had me dry-fire it to see if I liked the trigger. It was near-perfect. The smith had me follow him into the bowels of the building to an indoor range the store kept. The gunsmith wanted me to fire several magazines of .380ACP ammunition to see if I felt comfortable with it and could hit my target. After the second magazine, I placed the pistol on the counter and gave the armorer the thumbs up. I had found my newest, most favorite handgun.

We went back to the showroom with the armorer in the lead. So far, the shopping experience has pleased me. I hoped it did not come with a huge price tag. The salesperson asked how I planned to carry my pistol selection. I informed him I did not have a preferred carry method. He assured me that we would find the best carry option for me. After trying different options, we settled on a shoulder holster. The inside of the waistband was almost as good. I couldn’t decide which one I wanted, so I decided to buy both. “These people know their business,” I thought. I was glad Lawrence suggested coming here.