I delivered packages to Robert Hanssen's wife this Christmas.

I took a seasonal job with UPS - the United Parcel Service, as a driver helper ; During the three weeks leading up to Christmas, in response to the increase in parcels circulating that attends the holiday shopping season - particularly online purchases, UPS customarily hires people to assist delivery drivers in keeping pace with the high volume of deliveries.

The driver I accompanied had a route that served Vienna, Virginia. On my first week assisting him, I off-handedly remarked that I was certain our route was within a mile radius of the convicted spy's house. I did't realize until later that the house was far closer than first thought.

The week starting Dec. 15, my second week - having completed only three full days on the job, I started becoming familiar with the assigned route. It was in that second week that a sense of deja vu struck me, on one of the latter streets on our route. I recalled reading the book Spy : The Inside Story of How the FBI's Robert Hanssen Betrayed America in March 07, in anticipation of the release of Breach. That is why I was having difficulty placing where I had seen that particular street name before, until I made the association to the book. I shared my suspicion with the driver, which made for some idle conversation, nothing more. The days following, that same week - now armed with my association confirmed, I began seizing on a particular house on that street - also based on my recall from the book, which included a photo of the home. It was a modest split-level with a dark brown wood-paneled facade. It looked rather like the Brady Bunch house - its decor style was certainly of the same vintage. There were no deliveries addressed to that home that week.

Week three, Monday - as the driver and I stopped about one house past the cause of my vexation, a woman - about to leave her driveway, just as we pulled up - called out to me while on the truck, asking if we had any deliveries for her. The driver affirmed as much when he handed me an envelope labeled with that exact address. I walked the package to her on the driveway, and once she received it into her hands and walked towards the home, I succumbed to my great wanting to confirm my suspicion, asking,"May I ask you - I hope I'm not being indelicate, but is this the old Hanssen house?", to which the woman - whose face changed from genial to chastened, though not irked - replied,"It still is the Hanssen house. You can see the name on the envelope. I'm Mrs. Hanssen." Hooo boy - I really walked into that one! The mortification of my faux pas washed over my face instantly - with the haste, force, and sensation of water brought to a rolling boil and launched from a five-quart saucepan. I just then realized that I assumed - wrongly - that the family had moved, in the wake of the harsh light of scrutiny that descended on the home by the patriarch's betrayal, and that I was speaking to the 'current' resident, which of course, I was. The woman, who, by this inelegant and unsolicited exchange, (courtesy of me) introduced herself to me, continued by saying."I have six children. It was hard, but we're still here, life goes on.". Before she receded to the anonymity of the dim interior of her home, she - perhaps cued by my ethnic appearance, asked,"Do you celebrate Christmas?" "Yes I do.", I answered glibly, my non-attendance of church cemented long ago, though immaterial to my answer. I tried lastly to appease Mrs. Hanssen for the effrontery I caused with a wavering, half-hearted,"Have a Merry Christmas." She gamely reciprocated, and thus was concluded my 'chance' meeting with the wife of the spy last convicted by the federal government of betraying the United States.

Epilogue : Tuesday, the day following - still feeling like a first-class heel for the awkward exchange with Mrs. Hanssen, I sought to make a more thorough apology to her that day. Luckily, there was a delivery for that address that day as well. I walked the envelope to front porch of the house, set it on the welcome mat, and gave a door a firm knock. I returned to the truck immediately, before anyone answered the door.(In UPS training, unless the delivery requires signature confirmation from the addressee, the purpose of knocking is to alert any occupants that something has been delivered - not to determine if anyone is home, or to hand it directly to the addressee.) As I was walking towards the truck, I heard the door crack open. Mrs. Hanssen picked up the envelope from the doormat. I said hello and attempted to apologize, but she indiffidently assured me,"Oh, don't worry about it, don't worry about it." I would guess that she is accustomed to being the focus of unwanted attention, to a greater degree, and from far worse people.



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