Operation: Snowball

“Agent Bass, come in. Bass, can you hear me?” Special Agent Hinkle barked at me.

“Loud and clear, boss. I can also smell your tuna sub.” I reply with bitterness. This is the third wild goose chase in three weeks. Stakeouts, no sleep, smelly hotels, fast food, and stuck in a 2008 Caprice Classic with Agent Tuna, is pushing me to the limit. This operation is a joke.

“Keep the comments for the comedy club, Bass. Eyes on the prize.” Hinkle said

“Yes, ma’am.” I attempt a respectful answer as I walk through Cleveland’s industrial district in the dark. “Intel good on the location?”

“Direct from the North Pole.”

“Ma’am? Is that code for another operation?” 

Hinkle snapped, “Just a figure of speech, rookie! Now get inside the warehouse and locate our fugitive.”

“With all due respect, ma’am, shouldn’t we have a whole team to assault the building at night?”

“No! He would be expecting that. I lost the funding for an assault team due to a slight mishap in Denver. Damn bureaucrats! Trust me, Agent, a one on one confrontation will nab this perp. Are you scared, Bass. You should be. This guy is a stone cold killer.” 

The mishap was Hinkle sending twelve agents into a trap. The ‘Frozen Dozen’ were allegedly buried inside a meat locker for six hours and almost froze to death. Why isn't my fearless leader going inside to seize the mastermind who has eluded her forever? I’m glad I only have an earpiece or Hinkle would have seen my deep eye roll. 

“Approaching the side door, ma’am.” 

 Why do I always work with wack jobs? There was Agent Rankin in Germany for Operation Toothache. I will never touch Listerine again. Can’t forget Regional Director Nelson in London for Operation Beanstalk. I get triggered when I see a pub. Of course, there is my worst favorite; Special Agent Bedford, in Mississippi for Operation Cottontail. That woman was nuts. I scoured hundreds of trash bins looking for evidence the size of rabbit pellets. Never could find it. Who comes up with these names?

The special agent asked, “What do you see, Bass?”

“The door and window are frosted over. It's snowing inside. This shouldn’t be possible; it's July.” 

“He’s in there. Proceed with caution. Radio silence until you see his deadly coal eyes. I’ll be listening.” 

“Roger that, boss.” 

I push on the door and it slides open until it hits a pile of thick snow. It’s at least 32 degrees as I enter; it’s getting colder. Hills of snow cover all the boxes and drums. My steps become silent as I move on the wintry mix. The warehouse is dark, except for light coming from the back office. The standard fluorescent bulbs cast long shadows which transform the building into an Arctic wonderland. 

There’s movement in the office. I remove my Glock and hold it in my frostbitten fingers. The eerie creak of rusty hinges echo in the deserted tundra. 

“Please come in, Agent Bass, I have been expecting you. By the way, Happy Birthday.” The perp called out to me.

“I don’t know how you know my classified information, but remove yourself from the office, now! Frank Rosti, you are under arrest for…”

A seven foot round frame dressed in an all white three-piece suit exited the office. Mr. Rosti wore a black bow tie and a dark gray top hat with a small pink flower. He gave me a malicious grin. I would have peed my pants if I wasn’t so damn cold. My body shivers and teeth chatter. 

“Hhhaaannnds uupppp Ssnowbbballllll!” 

The giant fugitive complied and asked, “Do you even know what my crimes are, Agent?”

Rattling teeth silence my frozen tongue, so I shake my head just to remain moving. I can’t take it! I drop the gun and rub my ice cube hands together. My warm breath is useless against the perpetual cold.

“Agent Charles William Bass, nickname Chilly. Mother, Crystal, and sister, Milly, deceased. Father: whereabouts unknown, presumed dead.” The fugitive leaned against the doorway. “You are single, University of Florida grad, and top of your class from the academy. Because of a minor infraction with a colleague, you've been assigned to fringe agents around the world. Currently, you are experiencing stage two hypothermia. Any longer and you will be unconscious.”

This dude knows way too much about me. Frost covers my black hair. I am jumping up and down to make sure I can run back to the warm summer night. 

Mr. Rosti stepped back and lowered his arms.  

“Mr. Bass, I have no issue with you and I’m tired of running. I’m very tired. Ms. Hinkle has been chasing me for years and almost apprehended me in Denver.” 

 He removed his hat and extended it to me. “This is what she is after. She believes it is magic. Magic does not make the man. The man makes the magic. Take it, it won’t harm you. Take it to her. Please, before you freeze to death.”

I touch the top hat and feel instant warmth course through my soul and then my body. The hat collapses into a thin circular disc. I stare at the man’s charcoal eyes and feel a strange kinship. I place the top hat inside my jacket and waddle from the warehouse. 

I exit and Special Agent Hinkle is there with the car. 

She waved me over to the Chevy. Hinkle held a thermos and poured me a steaming cup of black coffee. 

 Before I drink the hot elixir, the stainless steel mug defrosts my frozen fingers and face. The ice coating my tongue and throat melts slowly as the java revives my senses.  

“Thanks.” I shiver.   

“No problem, Bass.” Hinkle poured herself a cup and sipped it. “Rosti still in there?” 

“I think so.” I say. “He told me to give you something. I have my doubts about his intention.” 

She laughed, “What is it? A snowball?”

I remove the black disc from my jacket and snap it into shape. My boss stumbled away in shock. Hinkle’s cup splattered on the warm blacktop. She whipped out her gun and pointed it at me. 

“Hand it over, Bass! Now!”

“Boss, I think it’s a trick. Why would this criminal just hand it over?” I flip the top hat in the air and catch it.  

Hinkle cocked the gun as sweat beads rolled down her forehead. 

“I have been searching for that treasure for thirty years. For three generations, the Hinkles have tried to recover what moronic children stole on Christmas Day: my great grandfather’s magic hat. Place it on the ground and step back. I will shoot you. Do it! Now!” 

“Ma’am, listen, this is crazy. This hat is not magic. Watch, I’ll prove it.”  

“Drop it, Bass!” Bulging eyes glared at me. 

I place the hat on my head. Nothing happens. 

Bam!

My right shoulder explodes with pain as the bullet exits with my blood. I smack the ground with a thump.  

The top hat rolled to the feet of my superior officer. Agent Hinkle holstered her weapon and picked it up with reverence. 

“Sorry, Bass. I did warn you.” 

 Her Cheshire cat smile sends shivers down my cold spine. 

“Hinkle, don’t do it.” I moan.

“Shut up or I’ll shoot you again. I have waited my whole life for this moment.”

The federal agent raised the headpiece over her head and gently crowned herself with the family’s relic. Weary arms lowered to her sides. Complete satisfaction engulfed her wrinkled face, but soured to surprise and then horror.  

An arctic cloud exploded from the hat encasing the special agent. Within seconds, she morphed into an obscure human ice sculpture. The top hat remained unchanged on Hinkle’s crystallized skull. 

As I roll to my side, I witness a white shadow approach the human sized ice cube. 

Frank Rosti removed his hat from the frozen agent. He leered at me.  

“You warned her, Charles. I wish there was another way. But you did good; Son.” He extended his hand to me. “Those acting classes really paid off.”

He lifted me to my feet. 

“Thanks, Pops.” I scan my father’s face. “You don’t think the shivering was a bit melodramatic.” 

“Nah. You did great. A chip off the old ice block.” 

 He patted my shoulder and pain shot throughout my body. 

“Oowww!” I cry and grab my wound.

“Sorry, kiddo. Don’t worry it will heal up in a couple hours.” 

My father stood over the icy remains of Agent Hinkle. “She was a piece of dirty slush. But now she is a snowflake.”  

Frank Rosti pushed the ice sculpture over and it shattered on the blacktop. The pieces melted into tiny puddles and quickly evaporated.  

I stand next to my hero and say a prayer.

“Snowflakes to waters. Waters to vapors. Vapors to the heavens.”

In unison we proclaimed, “Amen.”

We walked in silence to the car.  

Frank started, “Oh, you dropped this.” He gave back my handgun. “You got your cover story ready?”

I smirk, “Thanks.” I retrieve the gun and holster it. “Of course. Memorized. How do you think I made it through London, Mississippi, and Germany?” 

“Chilly, what you did for those magical creatures is beyond the Himalayas. No one will think twice about investigating the tooth fairies, the beanstalk giants, or the Easter bunnies. Not to mention a lovable snowman.” He messed up my hair. 

“Thanks Pops.” I climb into the driver’s seat. “My next assignment is in Washington State and Oregon.” I lift up a file on the passenger seat. “Operation Big Feet here I come.”

“Sasquatch, son. They are a strong and noble race. We will need them for the final battle. Maybe I’ll tag along and have some fun.”

“Great, I would enjoy your company.” I ask, “Are you sure you want to take on the North Pole?”

“Who do you think is behind all those agents tracking and harassing the magical beasts no longer friendly with Mr. Red-suit? Who has enslaved elves and reindeer for hundreds of years, just to give some brats some toys? Who created the chemicals in ‘Summer Wheeze’ and destroyed all my snow people? Who desires all the winter magic for himself because he feels threatened by me? Who became jealous of my 1969 animated special because it was better than his lame Animagic one? Who is greedy, corrupt, and much fatter? Who kidnapped, tortured, and murdered your sweet mother and darling sister, just to lure me to destruction? Yes, son, we have to cut off the head of this candy cane serpent. It is time.”

 I close the door, start the engine, and roll down the window. 

“But what about Christmas?” 

The white suited man walked around the front of the car and plopped down next to me. He activated the AC to full blast. My father reclined the seat all the way back. He tossed the silk hat in the backseat.

“You know, son, Christmas has been around a lot longer than the Man with the Bag. It’s about so much more.”

My confused look must have tickled him because my favorite snowman bellowed a hardy laugh which vibrated the windshield.

I love his laugh.

“Let’s drive, boy, I can explain on the way.” He smiled, “You see, thousands of years ago, in the land of Israel, a baby was born in a tiny village named Bethlehem….”

I shift the car in drive and leave Operation Snowball far behind.