Final Winter

He was ego surfing, something most people did by keying in their names to Google and other search engines, to see what was out there on them. Big deal. He was ego surfing in a whole ‘nother realm, trying to find out just how much weight his Tiger Team was carrying under the Final Winter scenario. He did that by searching through the various classified message boards out there to see what references there were for either Final Winter or Tiger Team Seven. Little-known fact after the cluster-fuck known as 9/11 was the extent that information sharing was going on among the various intelligence agencies and groups out there. Oh, the heads of the intelligence agencies would troop up to Capitol Hill every several months to get grilled by the senators and congress-critters on why intelligence sharing wasn’t proceeding, how come agencies weren’t talking to each other, haven’t we learned anything since September 11 — and the whole damn thing was a fake and a fraud.

Truth was, communications had improved, communication was taking place, but why in hell would you want to publicize it? So it wasn’t publicized, even as it grew. Poor intelligence-agency heads. Darren was certain that in their classified job descriptions there must be a sub-section or paragraph that stated, ‘When required, the Director of Central Intelligence (or fill in the blank here of whatever agency you would like) will proceed to Capitol Hill, to experience filibustering and questioning from a group of people with the collective inquisitive intelligence of a tree sloth, and during that time the Director will express shock and dismay and will promise to do better concerning the state of his intelligence agency.’

Blah. Hope they got tidy bonuses for putting up with that shit.

So. Here he was, this late night, going into secure chat areas and message boards, trying to see what was there in preparation for Final Winter. And what he saw there terrified him.

There was nothing.

Nada. Zilch. Nothing.

Key in Final Winter and there were old reports about the anthrax-attack scenarios that Adrianna had previously outlined, and really old reports about Japanese attempts to bomb the Western (US) mainland with bubonic-plague-infested fleas during the Second World War by using huge helium balloons, but now…Anything about Final Winter and what was coming down the pike shortly, which had caused him and his Tiger Team such heartache and grief?

Nothing. Except a cryptic comment in a minutes report for a Tiger Team meeting held last week at Andrews Air Force Base, where it was stated that A. Scott had briefed the Director about Final Winter, and that authorization had been granted to proceed.

Authorization? All right, then, but where in hell was everybody else? The security hunts for the Syrian teams supposedly moving in the States, with their rental cars and plastic baggies of anthrax spores? Where were the public -health and CDC teams? Hell, where were the classified call-ups of certain National Guard and Reserve units?

Nothing.

It was like Final Winter didn’t exist.

Darren paused, chewed on a thumbnail.

But if it didn’t exist, what in hell were they doing? What was going on?

Puzzles and questions. As a proud member of the NSA, he hated them both.

~ * ~

Adrianna Scott rested her head on Brian’s shoulder, her heart still pounding, still reeling a bit from what had just happened. It shouldn’t have happened, couldn’t have happened, it threw a lot of things in the air, it put a lot of things in jeopardy. Just a few minutes ago, when their breathing had eased and things had calmed down, the two of them had had The Talk about how this was a mistake and it shouldn’t have happened, enjoyable as it had been, and things were too hectic and Final Winter took precedence over everything, and after The Talk she knew everything should have been fine. But it wasn’t.

Adrianna could not help herself, but something about this New York City cop was calling to her, was making her giddy like a schoolgirl, a feeling she had not experienced for many, many years, all the way back to that sweet young boy in Baghdad and—

‘Hey — you okay?’ Brian asked her, in the darkness of the room.

‘Yes, yes, just fine,’ she said.

‘Okay,’ he said, squeezing her shoulders with his strong arms, kissing the top of her head — ah, how sweet the touch -and he said, ‘You shook there for a moment. A tremble. Like you were falling asleep and suddenly had a bad dream.’

A bad dream, yes, a dream about Baghdad… and she pushed that thought away.

‘Yes, I was falling asleep, but no bad dream,’ she murmured. ‘I was just thinking…’

‘About what?’

Adrianna rubbed her face against Brian’s hairy chest. She liked hairy chests. She said, ‘Work, what else? I think the team should come out to Memphis. Stay close to here and oversee the project at AirBox. Perhaps we should take rooms in the hotel.’

She sensed his smile in the darkness. ‘Perhaps. And perhaps we will share room keys?’