I carefully pushed the plastic snowflake aside for a better view. I had to admit, the guy was good. I'd been watching for an hour as the elf brought excited little kids up to him. He lifted each onto his lap and patiently listened to their chatter and then sent them away happy, as if he did this every day. But those kids had been excited to see Santa. This one wasn't.

The boy was kicking and screaming as the elf dragged him to Santa. The telltale back-arch as he was lifted indicated that full temper tantrum mode was imminent. I moved out from behind the giant candy cane. There was no telling what this Santa would do. And nobody hurts a child during my mission.

I was still thirty feet away when Santa whispered in his ear. I reached for my Glock, ready to use whatever force was necessary. But the shrill shrieking suddenly stopped, the boy smiled and the sound of Christmas carols again filled the air.

This guy was really good.

Crisis averted, I stopped to contemplate a grazing reindeer. I glanced at my watch.

7:05.

If the drop was going to happen, it had to be soon. I looked around the crowd for anybody displaying obvious signs of stress or nervousness.

It was two days before Christmas. They all looked stressed and nervous.

I turned back to the Christmas scene. Santa was my only link.

A light bulb flashed and the ex-screamer was led back to his parents. The elf ushered in a smiling girl. Another flash. The girl was whisked away to make room for the next $14.99 picture.

A little boy dressed like a miniature Santa was next. One hand was engulfed by the elf's and the other clutched a small present. I could hear the ooh's and ahh's as he handed his gift to Santa. The scene was so cute that I almost didn't notice as the elf limped away.

The real elf didn't have a limp.

I kept my eyes on the package as I quickly moved towards the North Pole. I was halfway through the Christmas Village when it disappeared into his suit.

The drop had been made.

I vaulted over an oncoming Polar Express as the gimpy elf hung a "Back in 10 minutes" sign. Santa waved to the children as he casually started towards an exit at the back of the stage.

I leaped into the North Pole as Santa disappeared through the back door. I was instantly surrounded by a group of waist-high elves.

"Come children, line up like we practiced." An elf reminiscent of Brunnhilde clapped her hands twice to punctuate the command.

The elves swarmed around me like a hive of angry bees. I waded through the wave of miniature humanity, dodging curved slippers and flying extremities. As an elbow landed precariously close to a danger zone, I wondered if they were innocent children or a devious part of Santa's escape plan.

I broke free from the elves as an energetic rendition of Jingle Bells filled the air with noise. I raced for the door. But one more elf stood in my way.

"Aren't you a little old to be chasing Santa?" he growled.

He might have limped, but the gun in his hand was an effective equalizer. He nodded towards the kids and the crowd.

"Be a shame if any of them got hurt, huh? Might put a real kink in their Christmas plans."

The gun waved. "Have a seat on the floor. When the kids are done, quietly follow them out and nobody will get hurt."

I slowly followed his directions.

"Louder, children!"

His eyes flicked away as Brunnhilde shouted another order. I grabbed two handfuls of artificial snow and threw them at his face.

"Aaarrghhh-" The gun fell as he clawed at his eyes. I scooped it up on my way past. He blindly stumbled into the singing mini-elves as I ran out the door.

The door opened onto a long hallway. A flash of red velvet disappeared around the corner at the far end. Ignoring the commotion from the stage, I dashed after it.

I burst through another door - right into a crowd of shoppers. The hallway had dumped me into the mall between the North Pole and the food court. I searched the crowd for Santa.

I had to admire Santa's savvy. Instead of heading into one of the open areas, he was on a slalom course through the food court tables. He wielded his belly like a weapon, sweeping food and drink off tables and leaving devastation and chaos in his wake. I dove into the madness after him.

Nachos and pizza littered the ground. Soda ran in slick rivers, seeking packages carelessly placed on the floor. Children cried as fallen ice cream melted faster than Frosty on a spring day. Confused conversation filled the air.

"Mommy, why did Santa do that?"

"Stop! We don't use the three-second rule at the mall!"

"Didn't think a bowl full of jelly could hit that hard…"

Despite Santa's efforts, I was gaining on him. He broke from the food court only a few yards ahead of me.

He looked over his shoulder and I could see the cold calculation in his eyes.

Santa wasn't going to go down easy.

He headed for an open area of the mall with me close on his heels. As quick as a flash he stopped.

"Help me! Help me! He's trying to ruin Christmas for the children!" he cried, pointing at me.

Every eye in the mall turned to stare at me. Then they started to react. Men pushed up their sleeves. Mothers gripped their strollers. Old ladies started to swing their purses.

I had to act. Now.

I pointed to the sky.

"Look! There's Rudolph!"

For a split second the mob focused on the ceiling. By the time they looked back, I had darted behind a larger-than-life Grinch.

I looked around for Santa. I'd seen the exhaustion on his face; that red velvet costume was hot and heavy and was taking its toll. He couldn't go very far without changing his disguise.

Giggles suddenly filled the air. It sounded like they were coming from the nearby Victoria's Secret.

I raced into the store. Santa hats were everywhere, bobbing and weaving around the lingerie displays. Every employee wore one. I cautiously started to search a strange and bizarre world filled with silk and lace.

"Can I help you?" The woman was wearing a Santa hat and was definitely more attractive than my nemesis.

"Yes, I'm looking for Santa. Have you seen him?"

She giggled and pointed to a display. "He's looking at the teddies. Apparently Mrs. Claus is going to have a very special present under the tree."

I circled around the feather boa rack and made visual contact. I had him now.

With a leap I tackled him to the ground. But I hadn't counted on his belly piece. It acted like a combination shock absorber and spring, compressing and then bouncing us into the air. He lashed out with his foot. I rolled and narrowly avoided his kick. I reached up and grabbed merchandise from the nearest display. Animal print bras flew through the air and caught on his hat, the dangling fabric temporarily blinding him. I moved in to close the deal.

But he was quick. He tossed aside the bras and charged me. I tried to sidestep but found myself tangled in a display of corsets. My arms flailed wildly as his body rammed into me. Silk slid through my fingers and we fell to the ground.

He landed on his back with me on top. The belly bounce put me on my feet before he realized what had happened. I rushed forward and slipped one of the corsets over his head. I tightened the laces, restricting his airflow. His hand clawed at my arm but the lingerie was efficient. He stopped struggling in seconds.

I hog-tied the unconscious Santa with a convenient pair of fishnet stockings. Bracing myself, I opened his jacket and searched his sweaty body. I was rewarded with the present I'd seen the little boy hand off. I tore it open.

A small flash drive was carefully nestled in glitter-covered tissue paper. I tucked it into my pocket.

Mission accomplished. Chase Jackson had saved the world for another Christmas.

Sitting at the head of the mahogany table, Chase Jackson forked a drumstick onto his plate, his third of the evening. His mouth was half-full when he took a bite of it.

“Chase,” Shannon said, dabbing his face with a napkin. “Slow down and enjoy yourself, will you? There’s no rush. It’s Christmas, baby. Relax a while.”

Chase choked it down and sat back. “You’re right. Sorry, Shannon. I’m not used to relaxing.”

“I can tell,” she said, grinding pepper onto her sweet potatoes. “So what’s on the agenda tonight? Nothing that involves energy, I hope.”

“How about sledding?”

Shannon shook her head. “You’ve been gone for three weeks. I want to have a quiet night with you.”

“What do you have in mind, then?”

“I don’t know. I’ll get back to you.”

“What do you think, Howard?” Chase looked at a bearded man sitting to his right and making swirls on his plate with gravy. “You’ve been quiet as a mouse tonight.”

Howard put down the fork and let his handcuffs rest on the edge of his plate. “How ’bout you take the cuffs off?” he mumbled.

Chase laughed as gravy dripped down his chin onto his apron. “Sorry, Howard, but the chains stay on. President’s orders.”

“When do we get rid of this guy anyway?” Shannon said.

“The chief said he’d call tomorrow to work out the pick-up details. Apparently they’re going to fly a copter in. Isn’t that exciting, Howard? You’re going to go on a helicopter ride!”

Shannon looked past the crackling fireplace to the snowstorm in the window. “I don’t know if that’ll be possible if this keeps up.”

“I wouldn’t worry about that,” Howard said. “I think everything’s going to work out the way it should.”

Chase stopped chewing and glared at Howard. His face was still, solemn. A wave of silence moved across the room. “What was that?” he said.

“Don’t worry about it,” Howard said.

“Ignore him, Chase,” Shannon said, putting a hand on him. “He’s just trying to rile you up.”

But Chase did not stop staring at Howard. Nor did Howard stop staring back. The moment lasted for a long time.

Suddenly, Chase stood up and, pulling a gun out of his pocket, shot two bullets behind Shannon’s head. A man in the corner collapsed to the ground, wincing and nursing his bleeding arm. Another one appeared behind Howard and pointed his gun at Shannon.

“Make a move and I’ll kill her,” he said. The blood from the injured man sunk into the carpet and made the silence feel thick and pungent. Howard was on his feet now, his comrade giving him a gun with his free hand. Shannon sat shaking in her chair, watery eyes looking at Chase, waiting.

“So what now, Howard?” said Chase, practically yelling. “You run away and wait for us to come after you again? All of Washington knows your name. The cat-and-mouse game doesn’t end after one round.”

“I don’t think you understand,” Howard said, and shot his handcuffs off. They dropped to the ground and soaked in the blood. “In the cat-and-mouse game, you, my friend, are the mouse.”

At that moment, a bullet flew by Chase’s head and shattered the window behind him. Shannon made a break for the window and jumped through the broken shards of glass, Chase close behind her, and they heard a flurry of gunshots sting their ears just as the cold snow stung their socks. With the Ferrari in sight, Chase drew the keys from his pocket and unlocked it. They climbed in and took off, speeding out the black gates of their hijacked mansion and down the narrow icy path that led to the main road, ten miles away.

“Slow down!” Shannon shouted, struggling to get her seatbelt on between Chase’s jerking turns.

“There’s a revolver on the floor in the backseat. Pick it up and make sure they aren’t following.”

“Where are we going?” she asked.

“We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.”

The woods were thick and unforgiving — they seemed to come at the car instead of vice-versa, the trees barreling toward them only to move out of the way at the last possible moment. Shannon was looking out the back window, gun in hand, waiting for the flash of headlights.

Eventually they reached the main road. There was no sign of Howard and the others in sight. Chase stopped for a moment and looked left and right — miles of Adirondack wilderness was in either direction. He decided to go right, not for any particular reason other than to keep driving away from the mansion.

Shannon finally turned around and struck the glove compartment with her heel. “I can’t believe you let that happen!”

“I let it happen? Sorry that Howard’s friends are rogue bounty hunters and ex-spies!”

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t know. How else would they have found us? Look, I’m sorry. We’ll just have to lay low for a while until they forget about us.”

“Chase, there’s only three of them!”

He shook his head. “I doubt it. They’re stealthy, but they don’t travel lightly. They usually have the upper hand with numbers.”

Shannon didn’t say anything for a long time. The engine was the only sound in the wilderness.

“How’s Christmas in Quebec sound?” Chase said. “We could make it there by tomorrow morning.”

“I’m not speaking to you. I almost died in there.”

They drove on for a while, and when they knew they’d lost Howard’s group they drove some more because they didn’t know what else to do. Finally Shannon spoke.

“I want to spend Christmas in the Adirondacks. Like we planned.”

Chase sighed, knowing what she would say next. He pulled over to the side of the road.

They got out and walked to the trunk. Before she opened to trunk, Shannon gave Chase a knowing glance and nodded. He stared back at her blue face framed in a background of starlit pine trees. She turned the key and the trunk flew open. The two of them huddled together and looked carefully over the selection of weapons that lay neatly before them on a red, velvet cloth: sniper rifles, pistols, a shotgun.

“You pick first,” Chase said. “I’m in the holiday spirit.”

The moonlight reflecting off the fresh snow lent an eerie luster to the wooded hillside. The white-topped conifers beside the path combined with the preternatural glow made Chase wonder if he hadn’t been transported into a Lifetime Television holiday movie. He pulled his eyes away from the Christmas card view and turned to the woman at his elbow. "It sure is beautiful up here, Gran. I can see why you wouldn’t want to be anywhere else this time of year."

Her smile multiplied the lines on her face, but somehow took years off her appearance. "It is lovely. But that’s not the real reason I don’t come to visit your mother or Uncle Jake during the holidays. I can’t put them in danger; it’s just too risky, Chasey."

Chase blushed at the appellation. "But Mom would sure like to see you. Why don’t you just invite her and Uncle Jake up here for Christmas?"

He could hear the regret in her sigh. "You, my boy, are a lot like me. We live life to the fullest; no adventure too daring, no risk to great. Other folks aren’t like us, Chasey. They prefer the simple life: a nine-to-five job, a house in the suburbs, two cars, two kids, and a dog. I’ve made some choices that I don’t want my children to have to pay for. So I stay away; especially at Christmas time.”

"And yet you’ve invited me."

Her infectious grin was emphasized by the twinkle in her eye. “Ha! I know perfectly well that you can take care of yourself. I’ve been keeping tabs on you and I know about your adventures.”

They both started at the sound of bells ringing and snow crunching. The strains of Christmas tunes drifted through the crisp air and Chase’s face lit with joy. "Carolers!”

"Those aren’t carolers. Follow me and try to keep up."

Although confused, Chase had learned to never question or disobey his grandmother. Instinctively he launched into a sprint after her. For an octogenarian she could still move at a good clip and Chase spared no effort catching up with her. They rounded a clump of fir trees and plowed into a group of figures in their path, sending many of them flying like bowling pins.

Lying dazed in the snow, Chase heard a high-pitched laugh that sounded almost like the tinkling of bells. He looked up from the tangle of bodies and saw two cherubic faces peering down at him. He Started to apologize, but was interrupted by Gran’s voice. "Jingle and Jangle, what a surprise. I figured he’d have you two shoveling out reindeer pens for years after last year’s debacle. "

One of the faces scowled and the rosy glow from his cheeks spread to the rest of his face. The other simply smiled. "He’s been surprisingly forgiving lately. You should be happy about that since you’ll be seeing him in a couple of hours."

Gran growled, "I don’t think so, elf. I’ve been anticipating this.“ She kicked her legs into the air and flipped from supine snow angel to cat stance in a blink. As she landed, she discarded her oversized woolen mittens revealing twin tasers. Her thumbs mashed the buttons simultaneously, and Jingle and Jangle went from merry elves to twitching pixies in a heartbeat. "Come on, Chase, we’ve got to get out of here.”

She grabbed Jangle by the ankles and started to swing him in a wide circle. The few elves still standing were sent flying. With their path cleared, Chase and Gran took off toward her cabin. Chase struggled to keep up. "Won’t they (huff) just follow (pant) our tracks (puff) in the snow?"

"They don’t dare approach the cabin. Jingle and Jangle experienced the defensive measures last year; they know better. And no, they won’t just wait us out. The old man needs them up north; they can’t afford to be gone more than a few days."

When they arrived at the cabin, Chase collapsed on the floor. Gran looked at him and chuckled. Chase frowned. "It’s the elevation. I’m not used to this thin air."

"Sure, sure. And you have more weight to carry around too." This sent her into gales of laughter.

Chase tried to ignore her mirth. "Obviously you’ve seen those guys before. What the heck is going on here? An hour ago I didn’t believe elves even existed. What do they want with us?"

"Not us, Chasey. They want me. What do you know about your grandfather?”

Chase tried to remember what his mother had told him. "He did charity work, with children, I think. He died before Mom was born, right?"

Gran shook her head. "Oh, he’s still very much alive. I used to tell people he was dead. There was a lot less social stigma for a single mother if she was a widow. But no, he’s still out there. And every year around this time he sends his goons out to try to bring me back home."

Chase, realizing his mouth was hanging open, closed it so quickly his teeth clicked. "You mean those elves work for- My grandfather is- You were married to-"

"Santa Claus. Yes. And technically I’m still married to him; we never got divorced, just separated.”

Chase struggled to wrap his brain around the concept. "You are Mrs. Santa Claus? You’re husband is Father Christmas, Kris Kringle? Why aren’t you at the North Pole baking cookies or whatever Mrs. Claus does?”

"We just drifted apart. At first it was a whirlwind romance: ice skating hand-in-hand, building snowmen, bearskin rugs in front of the fireplace. But he got so involved with his job. He spent more and more time in the workshop and I got lonely. Like I said before, you and I are the kind of people who live life to the fullest. I couldn’t have that with him, up there."

Chase watched her in awe. It still didn’t seem real; it couldn’t be. As she paced, a strange look came over her. "You know, I’ve settled down quite a bit in the past few years. It might be nice to see him again, just to find out if any of the old flame still burns." Chase watched her open the security closet and switch off the defensive perimeter. As she opened the back door, she looked over her shoulder at her stunned grandson. "Want to go meet your grandfather?”

I recognised the house.

It was the house of my childhood.

But there was something about it, something that did not seem quite… quite right.

Was it the lights? Multicoloured lights. I did not recall lights in the windows like this last time I was here. What was the message they were trying to tell me? This had to be some sort of secret code. Those colours had to mean something. Red and green and white, with the occasional blue and yellow one. The pattern had to mean something. Had to!

Would I have the time to interpret their meaning?

I looked about quickly.

The beady, black eyes had already fallen upon me. I cursed my complacence and threw myself backwards where I ducked down behind the hedge. I caught my breath and peered cautiously through a gap in the branches.

He was only armed with what looked like a broom, but I knew only too well how deceiving those new weapons can be. Strangely, his rotund frame looked very white. I could not see his legs in the snow. At least he was wearing a scarf, but also a top hat? A final glance told me that his nose appeared orange and that his arms were quite spindly.

I nodded to myself. I could take him.

I took out the revolver and quickly screwed in the silencer. Two shots was all it took to obliterate the head completely. There was a lot less blood than I would have expected, but now was not the time to ponder that.

I had to get inside and make sure everything was all right. This was clearly more involved than I had assumed.

I just hoped I was not too late.

I had to think. The front door would be watched; it always was. And the back door would not only be locked, but also guarded by one of the vicious dogs that I remembered from my younger years as a prisoner here. So that only left a window.

They were protected, like everything else in this place. I know they looked like icicles, but the sharp shards of glass were poised to drop with the slightest tremor. A deadly trap, I had no doubt. I had to eliminate them first.

Percussion grenade. Small one. Enough to dislodge the protective spears. Things shook a little, but no real noise as those spears struck the snow below.

I heard footfalls.

The door opened. “Chase! Are you out there?”

My sister! And she knew I was here! Was she working with them now? I could not allow myself to be caught or seen so I shrank back into the vegetation and waited. She finally re-entered the house, but I knew she would be back.

I covered my hand and tapped the glass in the corner of the window. It had already been damaged by the grenade and so my entrance was simplified. A slight tinkle and the hole was large enough for me to carefully fit my hand in and unlatch the sash. I lifted it slowly and, with a final glance at my surrounds, darted inside, rolling across the floor and finishing on my feet, gun poised, ready for anything.

I sniffed. Burning! I hoped I was not too late.

I darted through the door and rammed myself hard against the opposite wall. A short corridor, but I was still alone, thanks to doors at either end. I could hear noises from behind the closer of the doors. It sounded like a struggle. Groaning and grunting, and then a drawn out sound, almost like a deep trumpet. An alarm? I could not let myself panic and I edged along the wall towards the other door at the far end.

With my foot I nudged it open a fraction, gun held at the ready in both hands.

Some one had planted a tree in the middle of the house? Like the front windows, it was covered in lights. Damn! I cursed myself. I wished I had spent more time trying to decipher the code. Oh well, no time for that now. For I could see that around the base of the tree were boxes.

So many boxes.

Parcel bombs! Why else would there be so many of them? They were planning wholesale death and destruction, maybe across the entire city! There was only one thing to do.

I lobbed the grenade and ducked. The explosion sent shrapnel in all directions and sent the door flying over my head and down the corridor. I was on my feet immediately and burst through, emptying two clips from my gun into everything that was still standing.

Smoke was still rising, And I could see that it was coming from an object disguised as a cooked bird set in the middle of a large table-like device. I grasped it and hurled it through the window, sending glass everywhere and then ducked down. No explosion; good, the snow must have negated any of the blast effects.

And I stood and surveyed the scene before me. Blackened faces stared back at me through the cloudy, smouldering haze.

One of them stepped forward. She placed her hand on the muzzle of my run and pushed it down so it was no longer pointing at her face.

“Merry Christmas, Chase.”

“Thanks, mum,” I replied.

Two days before Christmas. I'm on my way home. Feels like July. That's what happens when you stay too long in a strange place. Local conditions change your internal rhythms; eat away at who you were until you see a stranger in the mirror. It should not have affected me greatly as my persona is constantly adjusting to new situations. However, Detention City, in the Australian outback, has a way of getting beneath any façade; causing the inner essence of a person to surface before it is melted away in the searing desert heat and replaced with that which makes survival possible.

The assignment's first goal was infiltration. Never been easier; anyone can enter the place. Leaving is a different story. Documentation authorizing access to all secure areas will not guarantee permission to exit. Security officials often move their family into the prison city due to the effort required to obtain exit leave.

Bribery, on the other hand, is always an option. Expensive but usually a valid option.

The seat I was issued, and took without question or protest; an acquired habit over the past few months, is the most comfortable I can recall. The bourbon melts over my tongue and the cool cabin air is refreshing. There are clouds below us and deep blue ocean below that; I'd almost forgotten what they looked like. All of these small pleasures hold absolutely no reminders of the sun baked isolation of Detention City. My only souvenir, aside from two new scars and a chipped tooth, is a cheap five dollar watch.

Stage two of the mission was to locate the target, a Swede by the name of Jorgen, and bribe him in exchange for certain information. Knowledge is the real currency of the so called free world but not in a self contained prison city. No, commodities are still the base currency when the only natural resource is heat and sand.

To say I was not prepared is the understatement of the century - or at least my lifetime. Jorgen's dossier, supplied by agency intelligence, detailed a Swedish National with ties to Brazil and Italy. That may have been accurate but it did not prepare me to deal with a native Japanese traditionalist with in-laws connected to the Yakuza. Money, technology and weapons were useless as leverage. Additionally, disguising pieces of a ceramic pistol as an umbrella and supplying a remote personal digital assistant defies explanation where there is neither rain nor wireless network.

Jet Lag is catching up with me already and I'm only one hour into the flight home. The cabin lights are dimming as we rapidly fly towards night. The city is nocturnal. Daytime temperatures force people inside while abundant solar energy storage makes illuminating the night feasible. Buildings and walkways radiate the day's heat throughout the city while outside the boundary walls a bitter cold settles on the dunes.

Jorgen was a quiet man; meditative. Most of my time was devoted to becoming an unobtrusive part of his life; a fixture so common as to be hardly noticed. My routine became monotonous in order to cross his path several times each day without causing suspicion. Not an easy task when a suspicious mind helps keep people alive.

How do you bribe a man who wants nothing? This is the question which kept me awake long into the afternoon hours. Even when I had secured his trust enough to share lunch and the occasional dinner with him, nothing in conversation gave a clue as to what he desired or required. Damn I hate it when people are complacent and comfortable.

There was no sense in attempting to extract the information through force or quiet innuendo. Both would have been ineffective as pacifists have little instinct for self preservation and there was no subtle way of enquiring into state secrets. All I could think to offer him was what he wanted, nothing. So that is what I set about getting for him.

An assignment predicted to take several weeks is usually monitored closely, with fresh contacts being rotated regularly. This time was different. I had one contact, a mid level manager whose only information was that I must be treated as an exception to the general population and be helped when possible. Unfortunately it was not always possible.

This particular bean counter managed the logistics department; responsible for transporting all manner of items from A to B. In an attempt to be of assistance, he had compiled a lengthy list of contraband items available to him or already in his possession. To his surprise, all I wanted from him was information; personal details about various security personnel.

Being able to deduce the nature of a person quickly is a skill agents need in order to not only complete their missions, but also to survive. Every passenger in my immediate vicinity was assessed as they boarded and took their seat. Mannerisms, clothing, luggage and the look in their eyes were all weighed up. Thankfully I have come to the conclusion that I am still capable of immediate evaluation after having watched my fellow travelers closely over the past hour. This was not the case in the city.

Using the information received from the logistics manager, I set about contacting several prison employees; surreptitiously mentioning a specific detail with the aim of capturing their attention and feeding their vices. Information and assistance from me was given in exchange for a favor from them.

My first objective was a personnel coordinator with a gambling habit. In exchange for an introduction to an underground casino, one extra detainee would be created each day for 27 days. This required connecting the illegal gambling organizer to a corruptible pharmacist who, in turn, met some unsavory alcohol manufacturers.

Of several other key players in this production, two of note were responsible for housing and exit permits; the latter for myself.

After 27 fictitious prisoners had been admitted to the facility and accommodated in the same 3x3x3 block of units, the final stage of my plan was about to be put into action. An invitation to Jorgen of dinner and early morning walk before bed had become a simple matter to which he accepted readily.

Our meandering led us to a nondescript block of units, unusually dark and quiet. We entered the center stairwell and proceeded up to the middle unit. Inside the innermost apartment lay some elegant and efficient furnishings with an ornate plastic Christmas tree in the corner. (No, don't ask where that came from: trade secret.)

I turned to Jorgen and simply told him to stop and listen. There was nothing; not a sound. The ubiquitous sounds of many people, co-existing in a confined area, were absent. I could see in his face an ease he had not experienced for many years. Minutes passed.

Eventually I asked if he would like to take ownership of this apartment and the surrounding, empty units. In a slightly stunned manner, with much stammering, Jorgen attempted to question me as to how and why but my only answer was a suggestion that he ask me, "How much?"

Of course part of the answer was a few state secrets he had buried in his memory. A few instructions he needed to follow closely partly explained some of the hows. For instance: making sure to gift the gaudy, plastic tree to a rather effeminate housing inspector sometime during the next few days.

I received my secrets, Jorgen found peace and many others benefited from the transaction.

There are only two more hours remaining of this flight. After landing and clearing customs with the help of diplomatic documents waiting for me, a short 15 minute drive will see me home. Somehow I expect that what was once a rather noisy neighborhood in the flight path of many international airlines will feel, and sound, like an alpine resort.

I wonder if it is snowing yet.

Chase looked over his shoulder again. Was that woman in the red coat following him? Maybe it was the long-haired youth in the parka.He was feeling paranoid. Of course as a super spy he was supposed to be paranoid, but this season was always worse.

He stepped into the Purple Frog and ordered a coffee - black and no flavour but coffee and caffeine. The girl gave him a angry look, but he ignored her and walked to the back of the shop. He sat in the comfortable leather chair and stared at the tea pots that lined the shelf around the room.

How could the same store have both this wonderful chair and those tacky pots?

The chief slipped into the chair opposite him.

"One of these days some other curmudgeon is going to order a plain black coffee and I'll have to come out here and shoot the poor blighter."

"This time of year you'd be doing him a favour," Chase glared at the chief's concoction of whipped cream and candy cane. "So do you have any news for me?"

"Nothing you want to hear."

"Blast." Chase got up to leave.

"Are sure you're OK?"

"It's Christmas."

"Yes it is, have a merry one."

Chase just grunted.

"You keep that up and you'll be getting a visit from the ghosts of Christmas."

"The ghosts of Christmas had better remember I have a loaded .45 under my pillow." The chief just waved at him as Chase stomped out into the street.

The parka was loitering across the street. Chasre cursed and headed north. The punk didn't follow, but he knew that someone in the crowd was more than likely keeping a close eye on him. Chase walked to Times Square and dove into the maelstrom. Someone stepped on his foot and muttered 'Merry Christmas' instead of an apology.

"Bah humbug." Chase snarled.

"Hey, sorry man, I meant 'Happy Holidays'"

Chase just growled at him and the man scampered off leaving a trail of 'Merry Christmas' in his wake. The encounter served its purpose. A woman in an orange fur watched him just a little too long while everyone else turned their eyes away. He walked through the crowd not making any effort to lose the woman. He had to admit that she was good. If it hadn't been for that one slip he would have never given her a second glance.

He led her up Broadway til the crowds thinned out. She somehow managed to look in every store window and yet stay comfortablly in sight. She must be working with a partner. Chase decided.

He stepped out and hailed a passing pedicab. Normally he loathed the things, but tonight it was perfect. He climbed in and they set off toward Central Park. The woman in the fur wandered into store. There were a couple of other pedicabs on the road, but they were filled with families. No one was paying him any attention.

"I changed my mind," Chase said, "Forget Columbus Circle. Take me to the Rockefeller Centre."

The muscular young man shrugged and swerved through traffic to head east. Chase got out and paid him under the lights of the big tree. Hordes of people were there doing last minute Christmas shopping. Chase shuddered, he would rather face a firing squad than a crowded store of desperate shoppers. He bought a cup of coffee from a street vendor and walked through the area. He didn't see anyone who looked like they were following him. Either they were better than he was, or they weren't there.

Chase was betting they weren't there.

This wasn't the first Christmas Eve he had played this game. He let his mind wander while the coffee warmed him. There was that time in Moscow, he just made it out by the skin of his teeth. Johannesburg had been even worse. Just the thought brought back the smell of the garbage waggon he had hidden in while Her people had hunted for him.

He hated Christmas. There were too many happy crowds of deluded people. He never understood what made them go out and spend their savings on junk that would just as likely be trashed by the end of the week. Yet here they were, smiling and waving at each other with hands full of presents.

"Bah humbug," he said to himself. He threw his coffee cup in a trash can and headed for the subway. Time to go home. There was a bottle of scotch calling his name.

The ride home didn”²t improve his mood. Instead of being left to himself, complete strangers insisted on wishing him 'Happy Holidays' or 'Merry Christmas'. One man even wished him an 'Awesome Consumerist Blowout', whatever that meant.

"I'm an atheist," the man said, "But I love a good party."

Chase gritted his teeth but said nothing.

He climbed the stairs out of the subway and headed toward one of his many appartments. He was turning the key in the lock on his door when he caught a glimpse of a woman in a pink jacket. Her hair was the colour of a fur coat. His blood went cold. They were on to him. He didn't know how, but they'd found this safe house. If they knew about this one, they would know about the others. He wasn't safe anywhere in the city.

All thought of a evening cuddled up with a bottle left his head as Chase ran up the stairs. He went right past his floor to the one above. He clambered out onto the fire escape and climbed as quietly as he could up to the roof. It was bitter cold on the roof, but he didn't care. The building joined the one next to it and Chase lowered himself to the other building. He travelled down three buildings before he picked the lock on a door and let himself in.

The stairwell was dim. This was a commercial building. They had alarms on every window and door along with a great number of other tricks. They didn't pose any danger to Chase. He had installed the system himself. It was even better than the one the owners thought they were paying for, but this one had the advantage of being able to read the RFID card in his wallet and allowing him full and unrecorded access to the entire building. He walked down the stairs to the basement and out into the deserted parking garage. His car was on the second level in a corner. Chase made sure that there was no one around before he opened the car door.

He leaned his head back against the seat for a moment before he turned the key. Safe at last. He almost didn't hear the faint his of gas, but by the time he reached for the door it was too late. The world went blurry, then dark.

He came to in a room he knew all too well.

The woman from Times Square was sitting in the corner knitting.

"Get dressed," she said, "She's waiting for you."

"You were herding me," Chase said, "The whole time."

"Get dressed," the woman said again and left.

Chase picked up the suit that was laid out on the couch and put it on. It fit perfectly. He was tying his bow tie when the door opened and She walked in.

"Hello, Chase." She straightened the tie with a few tugs. "There, now you look ready for civilized company."

"Hello, Mom," Chase said, "Do you expect me to talk to them?"

"I expect you," she said, patting his cheek, "To have a Merry Christmas. I don't know why you make so much trouble every year."

"You know why."

"I do," she sighed, "But it has to be done."

"Your people are good," Chase said.

"You are just delaying the inevitable," she said, "But thank you, from you that really means something."

Chase leaned down slightly and kissed his mother's hair.

"Merry Christmas, Mom"

"Merry Christmas, Chase."

Chase squared his shoulders and went to spend Christmas Dinner with his family.