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With a casual sort of curiosity, Jennifer inquired: "Feel free to tell me to keep my nose out of restricted areas, but does this have anything to do with Beth or Brian?"

With my left hand firmly on the wheel and my eyes shifting back and forth quickly between Jennifer and the road, I reached out with my right hand and made a shooing motion near her nose with the back of my hand. While Jennifer was laughing, I indicated: "Actually, there's nothing really private involved in the trip."

I briefly switched my attention to waiting for traffic to clear before making a left-hand turn and, then, resumed with what I was intending to say to Jennifer.

"I haven't seen my friend, Ken Pratt, and his family for some time. I thought I would combine a friendly visit with my desire to take advantage of Ken's intelligence sources and, perhaps, find out something about an organization that is trying to throw a lot of money at me for some part-time consulting work.

"Originally, the Brian and Beth affair wasn't a primary consideration in taking the trip to see Ken. Quite a few things, however, have happened since the idea of the trip became more than a possibility. Therefore, I'm sure Beth and Brian will be getting some air-play during the visit."

We were both silent for awhile. Each of us was following the path laid down in consciousness by our respective thoughts and feelings.

After a time, Jennifer looked over at me. I could see she was sort of studying me or gauging me in some manner.

Jennifer made sure her door was locked and shifted in her seat a little so she could lean against the door and look at me with a little more ease. When all the adjustments had been made, she vented forth with what was on her mind.

"What's really behind this emotional vendetta you are unilaterally carrying on with the FBI?" she wanted to know. "When you and Beth were in my office for the first time, after the hypnosis session, you indicated you might be willing, at a later time, to go into your personal reasons for not trusting the FBI.

"Well...the time is later," Jennifer indicated and, in the process, gave somewhat exaggerated emphasis to the word "is". "So, what do you have to say for yourself Dr. Phelps? Are you going to come clean, or do we have to take you downtown and take the gloves off?"

"We are downtown already," I observed. I slowed and, then, stopped for a red light.

"In that case, we'll just have to skip the kid-glove treatment routine and go straight to the rough stuff," Jennifer said in a way that sounded like a copper who meant business.

While waiting for the light to change to green, I defiantly stated: "I ain't saying 'nuthen' until Ellen Hudson gets here."

The light changed. I drove through the intersection and took the next right.

I looked quickly over at Jennifer and returned my gaze to the road stretching out before the car. As the car proceeded down the street, I proceeded to the topic in which Jennifer had expressed an interest.

"After going to Canada during the Vietnam war," I began, "my father became quite ill with a variety of medical problems. This occurred about four or five years after my leaving the United States.

"In the years between coming to Canada and my father's illness, I had been tried, in absentia, in Federal District Court for draft evasion. Following my conviction, a federal warrant was issued for my arrest.

"Once the federal warrant was in effect, the FBI began to call my parents on a semi-regular basis to ask them questions such as: Did they know where I was? Has your son been in contact with you or vice versa? Does your son have any plans to return to the United States? Did my parents know if I had entered the United States at any time? And so on."

I suspended the talk while making another left-hand turn. Once the turn had been negotiated, I resumed speaking.

"My father's illness was very difficult and traumatic for both my father and mother. The calls of the FBI made the situation even more stressful.

"The FBI didn't just call once and let it go at that. They called up every three months or so, and they kept this up for a number of years.

"When my father passed away, FBI agents attended the funeral. They wanted to see if I would show up for the occasion. I've been told, I forget by whom, that quite a few federal fugitives are caught while visiting ill parents or trying to say good-by at the funerals of family members."

I suddenly applied the brakes. A couple of young jay-walkers were running across the street. Fortunately, the early evening light was still good. At twilight time, I might not have seen them so easily.

I looked over at Jennifer, wondering if the braking had been too abrupt. Apparently, she had seen the incident coming and had managed to brace herself by extending one arm against the dashboard.

"Are you alright?" I asked.

"Fine," she replied. Then, she added, in a rather cryptic fashion: "Our near miss in the external world paralleled a near miss in my internal world."

"I'm afraid I don't follow," I remarked.

"I was going to utter some harsh words concerning the recklessness of those kids, when a bit of my own history of jay-walking came back to me. Consequently, tolerance and patience seemed to be better roads for me to travel down."

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