CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR ~ OPERATION: COOKIE CUTTER ~ by B.A. Linhares

The Cuckoo clock goes off out in the hallway. Josh checks his watch. I glance up at the chef wall clock and rub my bare wrist. Before my shower, I put Sean’s crummy watch in the bottom of my jewelry box. A proper burial. Ha! I should give it back to him. No. That would require speaking to him. I stab at my potato salad with my fork.

“Cookie, when you’re done eating,” Pop says, interrupting my thoughts. He has everything piled on the rolling tray and is busy covering it with a silver heating blanket. “Please put the plastic containers stacked on the island in the fridge,”

I’m pretty much done. I get up, tug open the fridge door and rearrange stuff to make room. I turn and point. “Josh please passes me those containers.”

Josh gets up and passes me a large plastic lidded bowl. My eyes go to the window and our backyard.  “I wish Ivan would call and let us know what’s up.”

 “Trust me. Ivan won’t miss Mr. B’s gourmet meal.”

“I doubt if he has anything new,” Pop says skeptically.

I shut the fridge door and recall how hastily Agent Smith and Marko took off after the call on the big car phone.

Pop opens the oven, takes out a dozen yeast rolls, and dumps them in a wicker basket. The aroma is divine. I need to do something. When he goes inside the pantry, I slide my folded paper toward Josh and whisper, “What about this? I mean shouldn’t we GOOGLE it or something?”

“Good idea.” He picks up the paper and slides it in his notebook. Josh knows that I’m in the habit of keeping stuff about Mom from Pop to avoid a conflict so he plays along. We climb off our stools as Pop comes out of the pantry with a red and white checkered cloth and carries it outside. I go over and find him busy wiping off the wet patio furniture with an old towel.

“Um. What cha doin’ Pop?”

“Now that the storm has passed, I thought it might be nice for the Agents to sit on our patio and eat.” He arranging gestures me over.

I step outside and help him lift the glass-toped table to the center of the patio and arrange chairs around it. He shakes out the tablecloth and I help spread it out.

Pop takes a deep breath. “There’s a nice feel of fall in the air and they can see the van from that vantage point.”

“Whatev.” I gesture over my shoulder. “Pop, if you don’t need Josh and me anymore, we have some homework.” A thought occurs to me. We’ll need to print hard copies for our case. “Um, Pop, mind if we use your computer in the den? We need to print some stuff off the Internet.”

“Of course you can use my computer.”

I turn to go.

“Oh, just one more request. Angle the TV so we can see it and turn up the volume.” Whistling merrily, Pop toddles down the path to alert the gang in the van that diner is served.

Josh and I roll the TV cart out the door. He goes back inside and I pick up the remote, adjust the volume, and peer at the action on the small screen. In the corner of the screen is a picture of Agent Werthoust. I gasp. “Wow! Agent Werthoust!”

Josh comes over. A lady in a red pantsuit is batting at a reporter with her purse.  “I thought Agent Werthoust was a dude.”

 “I think that’s his wife. Hang on. They’re going to tell us after the commercial break.” I look up and see that Pop is still messing the lock on the fence gate. I shout, “Pop come back!” He hustles back to see what I’m yelling about, and I swing the TV cart around and point at the screen. “You have to see this!”

The commercial ends and they show the lady in the red pantsuit again batting at a reporter with her purse.

 “Earlier today, Austrian Edwin Markesan, known for his unrelenting investigative tactics, and famous for his reporting on the agent Sheahan-Blakely––um, incident—attempted to get the goods on American Special Agent William Werthoust, by hounding his wife outside of their home in Arlington, Virginia.”

The camera zooms in as Mrs. Werthoust climbs into a waiting car. Markesan sticks his microphone right in her face. All you see are her really big teeth and chin as the driver slams the door. She puts the window down, stick her arm out the open window and flips Markesan off with a red, well-manicured finger. The scene changes and we move in closer to the little TV screen.  Markesan is standing in front of the Alpine Chalet Resort.

I grab Josh’s arm. “That’s where we stayed.”

“Nice.”

I glance over and see that Pop is sitting on the edge of a patio chairs. His mouth set in a stern frown. “You okay?

He waves a hand at me to say pass the remote.

I hand it over and the correspondent’s voice gets louder, drawing my attention back to the TV.

“Always in hot pursuit to uncover the details of the Blakely casualty, Markesan camped out in front of this beautiful Bavarian resort for months. Day after day, he hounded the employees of the Vienna Alpine Resort. When he started badgered Mrs. Milinski, the Alpine’s proprietor, asked the town administrators and Austrian authorities to ban Markesan from the premises.”

The station breaks for yet another string of commercials and Pop hits the mute button on the remote, leaving it on the table. The distant sound of traffic and chirping crickets fill the silence. After a moment, Pop says, “I wonder if we will ever have the pleasure of seeing her again—”

I hear the catch in his throat and look over. His eyes are brimming with tears. He dabs at his eyes with his fingers. I reach over and place my hand over his big hand resting on the table. He turns his head and peers sadly out at the rose garden. He says softly, “Helena is a wonderful woman. Always so gracious and helpful when we stayed at the Alpine.”

 “Yeah. She treated us like family.” I clear my throat. “She was completely shocked when we found out that Mom...you know.”

“Let me know if they have anything to say.” Pop rises up from the patio chair squeezing my hand and lets go of it.

I hug my waist and nod.

A big fat tear rolls down his chubby cheek. I walk over and brush it away with my finger. Pop smiles and kisses me on top of my head. We hug and over Pop’s shoulder I see Josh watching and mouth, He’s okay.

Pop lets me go and chuckles as he blows his nose loudly on his white kerchief. He folds it over and pokes it in his back pocket. “That Helena is a real pistol. She treats her guest and employees like family, but she runs a tight ship!”

“Yeah.” I look at Josh standing off to the side of the patio surprised that he’s not asking many questions. Guess it’s apparent that Pop and I are disturbed seeing the last place we laid eyes on Mom. I can tell by his posture that this has to be difficult to witness. I imagine he’s thinking should I leave. I smile tightly and my gaze wanders to the TV screen. I gasp. “There’s the Alpine again!” I rush over snatch the remote off the table and up the volume.

The reporter is saying, “…nevertheless, all attempts were futile. Edwin Markesan and his crew were ordered to vacate the premises by Ms. Milinski and the local police force. Now for the weather—”

“Darn we missed it!” I turn off the TV. Pop heads down the walk. He swing open the gate and maneuvers the cart through and out to the back alley. I call out, “You want some help taking the food out?” He waves a hand and shuts the gate. I turn to Josh and lift a shoulder. “I guess we’re off the hook. I rub my hands together. “I wanna see if we can find anymore dirt on Fredik.”

We go inside and Josh says, “Cookie, we need to write everything down that we remember about what happened today. Sooner or later, we’re going to be questioned.”

“Why?”

“We were witnesses.”

“Ah. But comrade after that,” I say, using a strong Russian accent. “We must Google Fredrik Koshechka on the Internet! There has to be more.

Josh mumbles, “I doubt it.”

I elbow him in the arm. “Hey, don’t jinx us.”

 

Josh and I grab our school bags from the foyer and go inside the den. The lamp on the desk is already on. I reach over, flip on the wall switch, and shut the door. At least Pop buys soft white bulb that don’t strain your eyes. We take our notes from Mr. Jackson’s class out of our satchel and rise up looking around. I wave at a spare wooden chair in the corner next to a floor lamp. “Um, drag that chair over closer.”

I sit down at the desk and fire up Pop’s computer. “To see if we’re on the same page, regarding what happened in the parking lot, we need to pull our thoughts together and write them down in a timeline. Josh says, pulling a chair right next to mine. He sits down and I have to catch my breath. He smells like our laundry detergent and fabric softener. He flips to a blank page on his notebook and turns toward me giving me a level stare. “I’ll write as we speak.”

 “Okay.” I shake my head and stare at the computer screen. Pop has GOOGLE as his home page. I click the “e” icon on Pop’s desktop to open Internet Explorer. “I’m dying to know who FK is and what he looks like in photographs.”

“Gotta do this first,” Josh insists.

“Fine.” I drop my hands in my lap and face Josh. We spend the next few minuets discussing our account of Char’s antics. While Josh reviews his notes, I type Fredrik Koshechka in search and hit enter.

Josh looks up and asks, “Anything else you want to add?”

I blink at the list and shake my head. “Nope. Really. That’s all I remember.”

“By the way, I have to give this to my dad tonight.” He slides his notebook closer to the keyboard and I glance down at his neat printing on the timeline.

“Looks great.” My eyes go back to the screen.

“Should I change anything?”

“Nope,” I say again, moving the mouse to the side of the screen and scroll down.

“I didn’t get a chance to mention this yet...” Josh’s voice trails off, sounding a little weird. “My dad told me that right after your mom’s funeral, several reporters started leaking classified information they supposedly got from their informers.”

I feel compelled to look at him, but I hesitate, wanting to see my search results. I lean closer and scan the list of hits. Zip. All of the sites have altered the name to be something unrelated. “Dang!” I slump back in the desk chair and blink. The soft white lights give Josh’s face an interesting effect. He looks older than his seventeen years. “What?”

“They said that during your vacation last Christmas, your mom was multi-tasking some super-secret-special mission. Only a select few know what the details. We know she was a Secret Agent. Dad said perhaps even a Double Agent.”

While Josh is telling me this, I can’t take my eyes off his full lips. The same lips that kissed my cheek. I pull my eye away and focus on the screen.

Stop looking at Josh like that. He’s going to think you’re flirting with him!

—is that so wrong?

I hear our cordless phone in the front hall ring and my gaze goes to the time in the corner of the screen. It is 7:51. The phone rings again and I gather that Pop is out back with the surveillance van crew. I jump up. “I better get that.”

“Hello, Blakely residence, Cookie speaking.”

“Hello Cookie, this is Officer O’Dell. How are you?”

 “Oh, hi, I am just fine...er...do you want to talk to Josh?” I wonder if he has the results back from the forensics lab on Mom’s throw yet.

Officer O’Dell laughs. “He’s still over there, huh?”

Josh stands up next to me. I cover the mouthpiece and hold the phone out to him. “It’s your dad.”

For a split second, he looks stunned then takes the phone, mumbles “Thanks” and heads out the den and goes into the living room for some privacy. While Josh is gone, I sit down and check the next few pages of my Fredrik search.  There are about ten or so sites, but everything is in Russian and will have to be translated.

—Duh! Josh can read Russian.

“Super! When he gets back, I let him figure out what they say.” I open the first sight and the computer freezes. “UH! Great. I probably just download a virus.”

I restart the computer. While the computer reboots, I pick up his satchel and sneak a peek inside. He’s beyond meticulous and neat. I return it to the floor and glance at our timeline on Char. Dreading tomorrow, I drill my fingers on Josh’s notebook I pick it up and feather the pages. He’s written a laundry list titled “CLUES” that’s about a mile long.

“Holy cow!”  

1. Cookie is being stalked - we don’t know by whom or why (perp: Valentine heart-shaped birthmark near left eyebrow, wears black, hat, big dude)

2. Boris Artamonov, Eva’s father (on roll top desk B.A.) real surname defected from Russia Sheahan name given as new identity.

3. Yellow throw is being tested for odd substance.

4. Front desk manager sold Christopher tickets for sunrise skiing trip was ‘Valentine’ also staying in the resort...if so did he see him buy the tickets.

5. Check on the photo’s James Beal takes of Cookie at school to see if ‘Valentine’ in background (swipe Beal’s album of Cookie).

This makes me laugh. I cover my mouth with my hand.

6. Examine the skiing photo of Cookie w/Eva, was ‘Valentine’ the man in the photo, then the elevator when she was 8 yrs old and hit her head?

I turn the page, the list goes for several more pages—I can’t believe how many possible clues we have on my mom’s case. We’re just two high school kids. This ticks me off what the hell the FBI was doing all these months. Suddenly cold, I shiver and hug myself. I glance around feeling a presence. “Mom?”

Pop sticks his head in the den’s door. “Hey love.”

I blink and look over at him. “Hi.”

“Beggar is out back asking for you. Wanna pet him? He’s so—”

Pop sees my distant expression and stops talking mid-sentence. He pushes into the den leaving the door wide open.

“What wrong? Where’d Josh go?”

I wave over my shoulder. “Uh...he’s talking to his dad on the cordless phone.” I look at the open door. “Isn’t he in the living room?”

“No, He must’ve stepped out on the front porch.” Pop perches on the edge of the desk, big crystal green eyes peer at me through the shadows. “Your face is as pale as a ghost.”

I blink back sudden tears. His coddling sometimes makes me feel all weepy. Especially when I’m over tired. I shake my head to keep from crying. He feels my forehead.

“Do you feel okay?”

“I’m fine.” I prop my elbows on either side of the keyboard. “It’s just that things have been so nutso for so long…it feels like I’m on a non-stop roller coaster.” I slump back in the chair. “UH! I am so looking forward to our trip to Florida.”

“Me too, darling,” Pop coos, patting my hand, “me too.” He bends over and tries to wrap his big Poppa Bear arms around me. It’s sweet but pretty awkward. He whispers, “It’s coming up fast.”

Josh enters the den guardedly, his cell phone in his hand. I quickly swipe at my eyes with the back of my hand. Pop stands up and steps away from the desk, motioning for Josh to sit.

Josh looks at Pop. “My dad says “Hi”.” He holds up his cell. “Seems he’s been trying to reach me for awhile.” Josh blushes a little and shakes his head. “Dad said he left several messages trying to get a hold of me. Unfortunately, I left my cell on the bathroom counter when I was changing.”

Josh flips open his phone and scrolls down the menu. “Oh yeah.”

My stomach tightens. I bet I have a few messages on my cell too. Like from Sean. Maybe even Char explaining why she tried to kill us. Who cares? I have bigger fish to fry! “Don’t feel bad,” I say, sitting up taller in the desk chair. “I’m always forgetting to turn mine on after school!” I toss a smile at Pop. “Huh Pop?”

“Always.” He rolls his eyes and winks at me. “Beggar cat showed up while the surveillance crew was eating.”

I look toward the door. “Are they still out there?”

Pop shakes his red mop. “No. They headed back with the pie and a fresh pot of coffee. I still have to load the dishwasher. I got distracted watching Beggar kitty.” Pop smiles like a little girl with a new dolly. “I think he’s taken a liking to me.”

Josh and I exchange a look and I laugh. “Like Josh said Pop, you feed him and bingo you have a new pet kitten.” Josh lays his cell on top of his notebook, and I hold my breath as he stares down at it for a second. He doesn’t seem to notice that its open to the Clue page—thank goodness. I wonder if he’d mind that I was reading his stuff—probably not.

“Anyway—” Josh continues, “––Dad said the GHS parking lot incident is the ‘talk of the town’ meaning the local and Internet media is camped out in front of our school, showing videos of the crash sight on the news.”

“Crap! Can my life get more complicated?” Pop and Josh look over at me with dismay.

Josh goes on, “They’d just ordered their drinks in––”

I butt in and say, “Josh’s parents were having dinner with Mr. Jackson and his stepsister Karren Longfellow. She is here helping the Katrina kids.” Great. Now I’m calling them Katrina kids like Beal. I look at Josh. “Sorry, I interrupted you.”

“They were sitting at the restaurant bar when the station called Dad. They needed him to lend a hand calming down worried parents showing up at the school on their way home from work.”

While Josh tells us about his conversation with Officer O’Dell, I palm the mouse. I see that Pop’s computer is okay. No blue screen. I glance at the ceiling. Thank you God. I click “HISTORY” and restore my Fredrik Koshechka search in GOOGLE. I click to page 4 and scan the list, sliding my eyes over the various files. I stop on a site about notorious KGB agents and their loved ones. Holding my breath, I click it open. I stare at what looks like fairly recent picture of Valentine sitting next to a pretty older woman. The paragraph under is in Russian…

Josh says, “The media got wind and started broadcasting the bomb story.”

I turn my head and repeat, “Bomb.”

Josh nods. “Yeah. Seems some rookie reporter showed up on the scene and was told by a misinformed person that a car bomb went off in Zak’s VW causing Char to crash into the boundary fence. Said reporter didn’t bother to confirm the bomb story he called it in and now it’s spread like wild fire.

As horrible, as it may sound I have to laugh.

“Of course since we were eye witnesses, I told him our version of what really happened and about our timetable.” Josh looks around the den and his eyes land on the scanner slash fax. “Mind if I fax it over to him?”

Pop lifts the lid of the scanner and Josh lays our timetable on the glass. “Just punch in the number and push the FAX button.”

“Thanks Mr. B.”

Still cracking up, I highlight and copy the paragraph under Fredrik Koshechka’s photograph and say, “Char MacDoogal, the Human Car Bomb!” I drop the paragraph in GOOGLE TRANSLATE.

Josh enters his Dad’s fax number, and says over his shoulder, “About fifty people were hauled down to the station for questioning.”

My eyes on the translation, I multi-task and mutter, “Glad we didn’t stick around then.”

Frowning, I scan the translated article twice. It’s like a riddle and difficult to comprehend what it’s implying. My gut tells me that I’m in grave danger. I hope to God I’m wrong.

There’s a pause in the conversation and I raise my eyes and look over the top of the computer screen. Pop and Dad are screwing around with the copier slash fax settings.

I ask. “Josh. Did they find out why Char went ballistic in the first place?”

Josh shakes his head. “That remains a mystery. They’re gonna talk to all the witnesses again tomorrow. After everyone has had time to settle down. Dad said Senator Brennan’s limo showed up at the scene. However, the cops said they had an ambulance take Char and Billy to George Washington Hospital to get checked over. Physically Char was fine but she was too mentally distraught to give a statement.”

“Jeez.” I sigh. “Char needs to see a shrink.”

Josh sees Pop’s worried expression. “Well, except for the Lexus, Billy’s Porsche Zak’s bug—which took the brunt of Char’s rage—no human was physically hurt.”

I stare at nothing. Poor Char. I should call her and find out her story. Hello! She tried to run you down! Yeah, what was that THAT all about? I glance down at the large band-aid covering the road rash on my elbow and feel lucky considering.

Josh chuckles. I guess trying to lighten the mood. He says, “Dad was pretty ticked about being called away from his cold beer.

“Especially after he found out nobody was hurt and that this was just anther one of Char wacko reactions to a fight with her boyfriend Billy.” I look at Josh. “Did everyone go to the school?”

“No. Mr. Jackson, his half-sister Karren, and my mom waited for Dad to return to the restaurant. Of course they were freaking out watching the reports on the TV in the bar.”

 “Well, alls well that ends well,” Pop says, waving his hands, apparently over discussing Char’s crazy life. He motions at the copier. “Before I go, check to make sure your fax went through.”

Josh turns around and glances down at the green light on the copier. “A-Okay.” He takes out his paper and comes over tucking the timetable back inside the flap in his notebook. I drum my fingers on the desktop, trying to get Josh’s attention, I’m dying to show him the article and see what he thinks. Pop not so much. He will only worry more and probably want to shut down our investigation.

“Oh! Mr. B, did you catch the preseason Red Skins game?”

“I did.” Pop comes over and faces Josh. “I have a few questions about the blokes on the field in black and white stripes.”

“The refs.”

I moan. Oh no! They’re talking about football. I’ll never get Pop out of here. Pop catches my clue and taps his watch crystal as he moves toward the door. “I’d better get the kitchen squared away and check on Beggar cat.” He pauses with his hand on the door. “You two should see how healthy he looks since we’ve been feeding him.”

“Okay.” Josh is about to leave.

I wad up a piece of paper and chuck it at him. It hits him on the forehead and lands between his feet. He touches his forehead and looks over at me.

“What about our homework?”

Pop hesitates and then curls his eyes at me.

I smile. “We really have a TON of homework.”

Pop winks and shuts the door. He seems to like that I’m buckling down.

Bending over, Josh retrieves the paper ball, throws it in the trashcan next to the desk.

I turn back to the computer and pat Josh’s chair. “Check this out.”

Josh sits down, leans toward the screen, and reads the paragraph out loud. “Fredrik Koshechka married KGB cipher clerk Elena, they have no children. Koshechka’s only sibling works at a women’s prison somewhere in Siberia. After he retires from the KGB he hopes to spend his days fishing and gardening, where he now lives with Elena. Fredrik talks little publicly about life as a spy and handler but like to share stories with his wife. There’s a picture of his dacha, country house in a community with other retired KGB. Nevertheless, before Fredrik Koshechka can fish, he has one last mission to complete. Amazingly it involves Special Agent Eva Shannon-Blakely.” Reaching over, Josh clicks a few keys and the copier spits out a copy of the article. “The translation caused a few typos.”

I get up and look at Josh. “Does it mean that Valentine wants to kill off my whole freaking family just so he can retire?”

“Good question.” Josh sits back down and blows out a soft whistle. “Pardon my French, but this is serious shit! We need to talk to Ivan.”

I sit down, lock eyes with Josh, and nod my head slowly. “But we can’t tell Pop. I’m serious. He’ll lock me in my room.”

We discuss the shadowy of the chilling implications ‘one last mission to complete’ could me. Josh says, “It has to be connected to the absentia trial held years before you were born.”

There’s a sharp knock on the den’s door.
I jump.
The door opens abruptly and Ivan looks in at us. “Join me in the kitchen.” He doesn’t wait for our response.

Without speaking, I shut down Pop’s computer and we tidy up. Then get up and go to the kitchen. I get the feeling things are coming to a head.