Final Winter

Brian said, ‘It’d be easier for him if I stand.’

‘Go ahead. Stand. But that’s it.’

So he stood, feeling dizzy, and then the cop was there, pulling out Brian’s gun and then his wallet and his other thin ID holder, and another confab was underway. Then the first cop whistled and said, ‘You’re with the Feds, then, huh?’

‘On temporary duty.’

The cop’s partner said, ‘I guess. Says here you’re a detective from New York City.’

The sound of an approaching siren grew louder. ‘That’s right.’

The first cop said, ‘Man, you are so far the fuck away from home.’

Brian said, ‘Truest thing you’re going to say tonight.’

~ * ~

After getting home from Dulles Airport, Adrianna Scott collapsed on the living-room couch in her condo, stretched out her legs and closed her eyes, refusing to think about anything for a while. Anything at all. Just keep everything blank. It had been one long day in a series of very long days, and her feet were throbbing. She had them resting on a small pillow, elevated up on the end of the couch. More long days ahead, that was for damn sure… and right now there were decisions to be made, choices to be analyzed, and phone calls to complete.

She looked at her watch. Nearly midnight. Still… it would be nice to take care of this one chore. She went to her soft leather briefcase, pulled out her PDA, looked to the cellar door. She should go downstairs to her homemade bubble, make the phone call by using the stolen CIA laptop.

That would be the safest thing to do, to ensure that maximum security was maintained.

Still… damn it, she was so damn tired.

Back to the couch. She sat down, looked at the phone. Just one phone call. That was all. And what were the possibilities of something untoward happening?

Very, very slight.

And she was so tired. The thought of going down to the cellar, manhandling that huge piece of furniture away from the hiding place underneath the staircase, powering up the laptop, setting up the phone-calling software… ugh.

Adrianna keyed in her PDA, found the number she was looking for, grabbed her cellphone and dialed away.

It rang three times and a woman’s voice answered. ‘CDC, operator two, may I help you?’

Adrianna gave her a four-number extension. Waited.

‘You have reached the Alpha Directory,’ the automated voice said. ‘Please enter the subsequent extension.’

Which she did, entering six more numerals. Then, with a practiced touch, she raised the cellphone slightly from her ear so that the low-pitched and then high-pitched squealing of the encryption devices coordinating their signals didn’t burst an eardrum. The squealing stopped and then a man’s voice answered.

‘McCartney.’

She took a breath. ‘This is Adrianna Scott calling. I’m the director of Foreign Operations and Intelligence Liaison Team Number Seven. Also known as Tiger Team Seven.’

‘Yes.’

She looked to her PDA. ‘You have a shipment ready to be made to the Memphis Airport, under a protocol called Final Winter.’

‘Yes.’

‘My authorization is Bravo Tango Zulu Zulu twelve.’

‘Mark. Repeating, Bravo Tango Zulu Zulu twelve. Go ahead.’

‘That shipment is to be canceled. Stand down and do not deliver. Please repeat.’

‘Message repeat. Shipment is canceled. Stand down and do not deliver packages.’

‘Very good. Scott signing off.’

She powered down her cellphone, felt a tingling in her chest. There. Nothing leaving from the CDC to Memphis. No, ma’am. But oh, there was going to be a delivery there, no doubt about it, and a very special delivery at that.

Adrianna yawned. Time to go to bed. Tomorrow was going to be another busy one.

~ * ~

Something woke up Vladimir Zhukov, and he wasn’t sure what. It was night, somewhere in South Dakota. Or maybe Iowa. He rubbed at his eyes and looked over at Imad. From the glow of the dashboard dials he could see that the Arab boy’s expression was concerned, and he knew what had awoken him. The Arab had the habit of muttering when something wasn’t going right, and Vladimir was sure that was what his subconscious had heard.

‘What’s wrong?’

‘There is a police cruiser following us.’

‘So?’

‘It’s been following us for the last several kilometers.’

Vladimir rubbed at his eyes again. ‘Are you speeding?’

‘Just a little,’ he said. ‘Only a few miles over the limit. But not enough to— shit!’

Vladimir looked at the sideview mirror, saw what had gotten Imad’s attention. Blue flashing lights from the cruiser. Damnation.

Imad started cursing under his breath, and Vladimir said, ‘Pull over.’

‘What?’

‘Pull over, now! What do you think, that we can outrun him in this rig? Pull over, and do it slow and polite.’

For once Imad did as he was told, switching on the turn indicator, downshifting the engine and braking. Vladimir looked around. A long, deserted stretch of highway. It was three in the morning. What a dark hour.

Imad braked the truck to a stop, the cab shuddering slightly as they halted. He reached under the seat and Vladimir held back his arm.

‘No,’ he said sharply.

‘We don’t have much time!’