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Deleted scenes 
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Deleted Scene #1
Following the first paragraph of page 134 of Entering the Privacy Zone:
Boston hit the door and burst out into the cold nighttime air on the run. He knew better than to stay out in the open and thought it best to run between the dormitory building and the Friar's Church, making his way to the end of the compound and to the forest beyond it. But as soon as he cut the corner and entered the narrow yard between the two buildings, a strong hand grasped the sleeve of his shirt and spun him around. Boston was amazed that Jackie had such strength in his grip but undaunted, he drove the heel of his left hand hard against the chin of the shadowy image and the man sputtered and recoiled hard back against the stone wall of the church. Boston was already in full swing with the barrel of his P-85 when the man cried out and shrunk instantly to his knees. Appalled, Boston realized that it wasn't Jackie he had battered but, unwittingly, he had trounced Ivan Gothage who, unfortunately, thought that Boston was Michael Jackie.
"Sorry, Ivan, looks like we both got the wrong man," Boston blurted out.
Gothage mumbled something as he stumbled to his feet and Boston, done with his apology, headed off through the rain, hell bent on finding the right man.
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Deleted Scene #2
Originally designed to be the closing to Entering The Privacy Zone
In the days following Admiral King's assassination and burial, while Boston impatiently awaited his hearing before the investigative committee, Boston had taken to spending time alone at his Georgetown residence. It was winter and heavy snowfall kept much of Washington indoors, anyway. That gave Boston time to mull over his story and explanation in front of the fireplace where he often sat blankly, staring into the roaring firelight, sipping too much Dewars Scotch.
Two weeks into this activity and Boston added to his repertoire falling asleep in front of the fire, often with an open bottle of his favorite scotch sitting next to him. The heat from the fire relaxed him, along with the whiskey, and he took comfort in the dreamless sleep.
One snowy evening, after imbibing nearly half a fifth of the Dewars, Boston awoke from his slumber to see a familiar figure sitting across from him. Shocked, Boston shook himself and sat upright in his chair.
"Sorry to surprise you, chap, I let myself in. Hope you don't mind but you appeared to be in a sort of a, uh, shall we say...bog," the distinguished British voice belonging to the old spy Peter Lyons spoke. Lyons sat casually in the armchair that faced Boston's lounger, clad in his woolen overcoat and tickweave hat. His Meerschaum pipe was in his hand and the scent of cavendish emanated from it.
"But the door was locked...I," Boston began.
Lyons laughed jocularly. "Locks mean nothing to spies like us. They are mere contrivances that create a temporary impediment. In this case, the old tumbler on your front door, ten seconds of down time for me."
Boston smiled and nodded. "Lock or no lock, you're always welcome, sir".
"Thank you. Say, chap, are you up for a talk?" Lyons asked.
Boston nodded then raised his opened hands. "Sure, it beats talkin' to this whiskey."
"Right, and you've been doing that ever since King's death."
"How'd you know?"
Lyons took a leisurely puff on his pipe and let the smoke curl up over the brim of his hat. "Let's just say that I've been around spookin' on you."
"You've been watching me?" Boston was surprised although not angry.
"That's right, Robert, and now I've got a message for you."
Boston adjusted in his chair. He felt his stomach twist with liquor and anxiety. "Okay."
"I'm back in the business and I've got a new mission," Lyons announced.
Boston was stymied. "Well...that's great. What is it?"
"I've been commissioned by Director Bradley to fix you up and get you back into shape. We can't have SIB's best spy self-destructing so give me that bottle of scotch and let's get crackin'," Lyons scolded in good humor.
And somehow, Robert Boston suddenly felt challenged and glad for the presence of the venerable old spy. Truly, Peter Lyons was welcome.
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