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 51Leaning down, Mildred picked up the garrote, rolled it up, and placed it into herstraw bag. There wasn't enough time for a thorough search of this stranger. How could Ihave been so careless? she thought.Quickly, Mildred noted some features of the dead woman. Did she look Europeanor American? It was hard to tell. No, the assailant had no distinct features, she could havebeen anyone's daughter. She was dressed like every other young businesswoman thatMildred had seen on her trip."Uffda. I've got to get out of here," Mildred muttered.Cautiously, Mildred opened the toilet stall door and perched the body of herattacker on the stool. Mildred was relieved that the cut on her left hand was superficial.After wrapping the cut hand in a handkerchief, Mildred carefully put her hand into her leftpocket. She adjusted her silk scarf to hide the bruises on her neck, opened the door to thehallway, and calmly stepped out.She turned right, walked swiftly past the Hertz car rental stand, and turned rightthrough the sliding glass door. Exiting the enclosed air conditioned climate of the airportlobby into the muggy Washington summer afternoon, Mildred joined the line of passengersalready formed at the taxi stand. At the taxi stand, the dispatcher asked Mildred where shewas going."I'm going to 4525 Wisconsin Avenue, Northwest," said Mildred in her soft,grandmotherly voice.1600 Hours: Thursday, June 10, 1993: CSAC offices, Washington, D.C."Welcome, Ms. Swensen," said the airman first class manning the counter at theentry level. "I hope you won't mind, but security is security."
 
 52"Oh, I don't mind at all, son. What would you like me to do?""We have the standard retina, fingerprint and voice analysis test. However,because of the location, we have to also conduct the ReTek DNA identifier test before wecan issue you identification. New orders.""My stars! That is new. I sure hope it doesn't hurt.""Don't worry, Ms. Swensen. It's quite painless. You just have to give us a salivasample." He handed Mildred a small plastic cup.Having completed the test sequence, Mildred was given clearance to proceed to thedebriefing room."Who was that?" said the young Marine guard manning the counter with theairman. "She could've been my grandmother.""I'm not sure you would want her for your grandmother. I hear tell her nickname isThe Black Widow. She has more confirmed kills than any other agent of CSAC.""Wow."Mildred was a pioneer in CSAC, its first woman agent. She was recruited by thefledging CSAC organization in 1965 from her first job as an intelligence analyst for theCentral Intelligence Agency, which she had joined in the late fifties. A native Minnesotan,Mildred was a descendant of Norwegian settlers in the rich Red River of the North valleyof Minnesota.When Mildred was hired by CSAC, she discovered she had a knack for the morephysical aspects of the agency's mission. She quickly became an expert in special projects,the kind that were not normally considered appropriate for the distaff side of the agency inthose days. Mildred quickly found out that her special skills and inclinations wereperfectly suited for that particular line of endeavor.
 
 53Special projects evoked in Mildred the same visceral pleasure she had first felt solong ago during deer season in Minnesota with her beloved grandfather. She wouldalways love the kindly, soft-spoken Norwegian farmer who taught his awkward, bookish,eight-year-old granddaughter the thrill of the chase and the rush of the kill.Hunting was much more than finding and scoring a kill. That was the lesson thatGrandpa had taught. There was a system, a methodology that had to be followed: finding afresh trail, stalking the quarry through its daily chores, gaining knowledge of the minutedetails of its life, setting up the final moment, and finally the kill, the ultimate intimatemoment. The explosion of the rifle followed by the almost choreographed falling of theprey. There was no anguish, no dramatic last gasping moment, just the silent slumping of the deer as the bullet completed its grisly assignment.Young Mildred was upset and shocked when her grandfather field-dressed her firstdeer that cold November day so long ago; the careful knife cut through the fur and themusculature of the fallen deer lying peacefully, as if asleep, in the fresh-fallen snow.Afterward, steamy entrails of white, yellow, and blue poured out of the deer's split belly ina cascade of crimson, glistening in the noonday sun.Her initial shock at the horror of that moment quickly became a lifelong fascinationwith the machines of life. Mildred was fascinated with the thought that fur and skin weremerely the outer coverings, packaging for the intricate construction of separate mysteriesthat lay hidden so close to the surface. Mysteries that could be only revealed when theouter covering was carefully peeled back just as her beloved grandfather had taught her.Her parents applauded this bent for science and quietly dreamt of Mildred somedayteaching biology at the local high school.Like others of her kind, the young Mildred first experimented with small animals,making sure that the procedure was always within acceptable limits. She often used the
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