Final Winter

‘No, I said! Listen, that patrol officer back there, he has called in what he has done to his police unit. They will know that a truck has been pulled over and they will have a description and license plate number. What then, if you shoot him dead?’

‘We get away!’

‘And for how long? Listen, that is a police officer back there. Not some degenerate young people in a Jeep who won’t be missed for days. If that officer is killed and they believe we did it, every police officer in this country will be looking for us. This is not your country or my country. Here, they love their men in uniform. Kill him and we won’t make it to Memphis.’

Imad withdrew his arm. ‘What, then? What do we do?’

Vladimir looked to the sideview mirror. Doors to the cruiser were opening up. Just their luck, there were two of them back there.

‘We wait. We see what they want.’

Imad glanced over at his mirror. ‘They’re coming. You better know what you’re doing.’

‘I do,’ Vladimir said, lying to the boy. ‘I do.’

~ * ~

The phone call that Adrianna Scott had made to the secure CDC facility had been tapped and traced even before she hung up. The particulars of the call — her phone number, the CDC number, duration of the call and key words mentioned — was placed in a routine notification file and sent to a classified internal security mailing list; Among the recipients on the mailing list was one Durlane Foster, an overworked security analyst working for the National Security Agency, who was currently on one week’s medical leave to take care of a prostate problem.

Unknown to Durlane Foster was the fact that as part of his e-mail address, an enhanced BCC — blind carbon copy -program sent a copy of the message to another NSA employee, who had been detached to a program called Foreign Operations and Intelligence Liaison, known by those in the know as Tiger Teams.

That NSA member was Darren Coover, member of Tiger Team Seven.

~ * ~

The phone rang and rang and rang and Alexander Bocks sat up in bed, wondering for a moment just where in hell he was when he realized he was in his big old bed in his big old empty home. He looked at the empty spot near him, which should have contained the sleeping and loving form of his wife, Amy. Poor, dear Amy, who had gone with him through all those stations and deployments, keeping things together with love and good wishes, hardly ever complaining, just wanting to share a life with her man, and upon his retirement, share him 24/7, never to share him with anyone else, just lots of travel and rest and catching up for all those missed meals and appointments because of some foul-up on the flight line…

Dear, sweet, patient Amy, who had been taken away from him just after his retirement, by a carcinoma that had no patience at all.

The phone was still ringing. He looked at the bedside clock, saw it was just past four in the morning, which meant—

Disaster. A crash somewhere. An AirBox jet down, crew dead, cargo destroyed, a major emotional and financial hit and, oh Christ, grab the damn thing.

He picked up the phone. ‘Bocks.’

‘First thing first, don’t hang up.’

‘Don’t hang—Jesus fucking Christ, is that you, Frank?’

‘Yeah, it is,’ said Frank Woolsey, his CFO. ‘Look, don’t hang up.’

Bocks sat up against the headboard. ‘Okay. I won’t hang up. I’ll just sit here and let you hang yourself.’

‘Me? Hang myself? Look, first you don’t answer my phone calls, you won’t see me, you won’t answer e-mail, you won’t—’

‘I’ve been busy.’

‘Busy! I guess the hell you have been busy, settling the labor contract all on your own. Jesus Christ, General, you realize what you’ve done?’

‘Yes.’

Bocks could make out the breathing on the other end of the line. Frank said, ‘I’ve already heard from a number of board members. They are fucking shitting bricks. You’ve put the company in an untenable position.’

‘It’s my company.’

‘Oh, sure, it’s your company, but it also belongs to the stockholders, pal, and the board of directors are there, representing their interests, and if you think they’re going to let you run the company into the ground because of some old concept of loyalty, why, you’re off your rocker. It’s not going to happen.’

‘It’s going to happen, Frank. Just wait and see.’

‘No, it’s not. It’s a new world, General, one that won’t allow you to run this company like your own private air force or something. I’m calling a meeting of the board, and if you’re still running things by the end of the week, I’ll be—’

Bocks hung up the phone. He picked up the base, found the phone wire that led into it from the wall, and pulled the plug. Shut off the light and lay back down, and gingerly, quietly, ran his hand across to the empty space beside him. Some nights, dear Amy would just lie there, listening to him bitch and moan about missing parts, missing personnel, missing directives, or whatever other nonsense he had to put up with, and despite the hour and time, never once had she seemed to mind.