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

Pop runs into the living room. His clothes are rumple and his eyes are puffy as if he just woke up. “I heard something outside. Make sure the front door is double locked! Batten down the hatches!” He goes to the window, yanks the drapes apart, and peers outside.

Josh lowers his eyes and takes a step back in the shadows. Not sure why.

I check the door, and then wave my hand in the air. “Geez Pop, stop freaking out! It’s probably just a car full of kids driving through the neighborhood with their music blearing.”

“You’re correct.” He peers out the drapes and mutters, “There’s a car down on the corner and a bunch of hoodlums around it…probably selling drugs.”

“Don’t worry; the agents in the surveillance are keeping an eye on them.”

“Good, I hope the arrest the lot of ‘em,” he mutters, and lets go of the drapes. “The Neighborhood Watch is on hold.” Crossing over to me, tucking in his shirt, he hikes up his kaki trousers. He runs his finger through his wild red curls then rubs his hands together. “Everything’s bloody screwed up,” He grumbles to himself and settles in his chair.

I sit on the couch and glance at Josh still over by the far wall writing in his notebook.

Pop rubs his eyes with the heel of his fists then looks startled when Josh strolls over. “Josh? I didn’t realize you were still here.”

“Yeah, I should go. Mr. B, those documents are impressive.”

“We’ve been hard at it––” I say in Josh’s defense, not quite getting it out before I’m overtaken by a yawn.

“So, you kids have any luck with the photographs?”

“Yes, big time,” I say nodding my head.

Pop rubs his hands together. “So fill me in.”

Josh settles in a chair across from me.

“Josh, do you mind filling––?” my sentence is cut off by yet another yawn; I wave a limp hand and close my eyes. Josh and Pop are wide awake and I’m ready to crash. I curl up on my side like a cat in the corner and tuck a pillow under my head and between my knees. What’s wrong with me? One minute I feel like a marathon swimmer and the next I can barely stand on my feet. The shot of adrenalin I felt after hearing that Mom might not even be in the casket left me spent and exhausted. Plus, duh, you haven’t had a good nights sleep all month.

“Um, sure.”

I mutter, “We came down to check her certificates for dates.”

“Sounds as if you two are on to something,” Pop says, sounding intrigued.

“Uh, yes,” Josh says cautiously. “Cookie and I think we’ve figured out a few more things about Mrs. B,”

I force open my eyes mere slits to see Pop’s reaction.

Pop frowns deeply. “Hold that thought, I’m going to grab a cup of Java.” He gets up and halts next to the opening. “You want anything?”

Josh says, “I’m good.”

I mumble in the pillow. “No thanks.”

I can feel Josh staring at me, but I don’t care.

He doesn’t say anything.

Pop returns with a steamy mug of rich smelling coffee and places it on a coaster on the side table next to his chair. I pull my self to an upright position and smile at Josh. “I just needed a tiny cat nap.”

“Oh,” Pop says, holding up a large hand. “Before you get into the thick of it, let me tell you two––whilst it’s still fresh in my memory—what Ivan’s people reported on the news last hour. I don’t write everything down like you Josh and I’m getting forgetful.” Pop sits forward, crossing his feet and places the picture he took of mom and me standing in the snow on his lap. He stares down at it, smiles pensively, and settles back in his chair.

I open my eyes wider wondering what the heck. “You made copies of that picture?”

“I always have the drug store develop two sets. One for us and one for your mum to have…” His voice trails off. “Your mum’s photographs were returned with her luggage.

“Ah.”

Scowling Pop locks his finger on top of his tummy and raises one red eyebrow. “Now, I’ve lost my train of thought. I was going to tell you something...”

Josh says, “The news report?”

Pop shakes a finger at me. “See, I told you my memory is going south.” He clears his throat. “Well, it would seem our buddy, Agent Werthoust, is in heap big do-do.”

I lean forward. “Really? What do you mean?”

Pop nods and smiles to himself like the cat that just ate the canary. He jabs his finger at the air. “They’re reporting that the man flat-out lied on his FBI application. About his health and who knows what else. To pass the physical, Agent Werthoust paid some foreign doctor to falsify his medical records. The President came on the set and repeated what she spoke about during the press briefing last night. At the end, she told the world that she’d ordered a special committee to investigate the case to see if it was mishandled. They’re pulling William Werthoust’s case work files and his personnel files––as we speak––and posting them on the White House website for public viewing.”

“Wow. So how does his health change things?”

“The Washington Post spoke to the Pentagon’s staff doctors. Truth is, Werthoust suffers from narcolepsy and because of this affliction, and he has a prescription drug addiction. He pops amphetamines to keep him from falling asleep on the job. He’s currently in a rehab center drying out so he can stand trial.” Pop makes a steeple under his chine.

I find my self sitting back, clutching the pillow in my lap. My brain screams ‘GET OUT’ this is unbelievable! What next? Consequently, my war weary mind drifts back to the phone conversation with Werthoust.

 

Josh sits forward in his chair and places his arms on his thighs, his fingers spread. “So let me get this straight. Agent Werthoust was high on speed while he was in charge of protecting agents in the field?”

Pop nods his big head. “Werthoust was sitting on the couch in the Alpine’s lobby talking to one of his men…one second he’s awake and the next his eyes are shut and he fast asleep. I just figured he was just overworked like all of the other agents.”

I blink. Oh my gosh. Werthoust said something about ‘narcolepsy’ during our taped phone conversation on my birthday. I wrote it down.

“Wait a minuet!” Josh says, as if putting two and two together. “Werthoust compromise the whole investigation, on purpose.”

“Remember when Agent Werthoust called on my birthday? Out of the blue he told me that Adolph Gandler, the laundry manager at the Alpine, had narcolepsy. I thought why he is telling me this. Now I know he was trying to cover his own butt!” I picture the piece of paper still stuck on my corkboard. “I wrote down stuff while we were talking. We have proof that he’s a dangerous liar.”

Josh says, “I’d like to kick his butt!”

“Get in line,” Pop says.

“And to think Werthoust held a big shot job with the FBI. I wouldn’t trust him to do anything!” I roll my eyes to the ceiling. “Can this get any more complicated?”

Pop slams his fist down on the arm of his chair. “This makes me furious!” Then he hangs his head down and looks at me with puppy dog eyes. “I’m sorry darlin’ I should have talked to him when he called here.” Pop frowns at me.

I force a smile. “That’s cool Pop. I’m glad I talked to Agent Werthoust...it gave me a chance to find out some things for my self first hand.”

“With the guest coming over, I didn’t want to be angry on your birthday…” Pop’s sentence fades off at the end.

All of a sudden, I feel like I am going to hurl as the gut wrenching guilt I’ve keep hidden for so long does a number on my insides. I hunch over and wrap my arms around my stomach, moaning in pain. I ball up on the couch, whispering mostly to myself, “What happened to her was my fault. I think that if I was never born, she would be still alive.” Tears stream down my face. “If only we’d never gone skiing that morning Mom would be okay.”

Not sure, what is wrong, Pop and Josh gape at me. Pop gets on his knees beside me. He clutches my hand with both of his hands, caressing my fingers. His green eyes are red and glassy with emotion. Josh perches on the couch’s arm taking this all in. I feel Josh’s hands on my shoulder. I glance up at him through blurry eyes. He asks, “So all this time, you’ve felt responsible for leaving her alone that morning.”

I nod and swipe at the tears on my cheeks.

Moaning, Pop pushes up off his knees and sits next to me on the couch. “Cookie, love, how can you even think such a thing? It’s Agent Werthoust fault.”

I sit up making room for him. “Yes, but Pop, I can’t help but think about it in hindsight.”

“Well don’t. It’ll make you crazy.”

Rising up, I help myself to tissues from the box on the fireplace ledge. I must be a sight. “Remember Christmas Eve morning…you know…after we left to go sunrise skiing—even if Werthoust was sleeping on the job—where was the team of bodyguards that was supposed to be watching over her? When you carried our skis to the elevator, the corridors were vacant. I even commented on it. There was supposed to be somebody guarding our room around the clock!”

Pop looks dismayed. “Oh Lord, you’re right….” He pauses to reflect. “I guess at that hour I was too bleary eyed to question anybody about the lack of security. I didn’t fully wake up until we had coffee at the café across the street.”

I look at Josh. “The café I told you about. Where Valentine hung out at all the time.”

“What?” Pop looks shocked and confused. “You saw him in the café?”

I nod. “I think so. I recall seeing this man in there, more than a few times, that could pass for him.”

Pop rubs his chin with his fist and stares off at nothing.

“This isn’t good,” Josh says sternly. “If Mrs. B was left totally unprotected the fault lies wholly at Werthoust feet.” He looks at me and adds, “Luckily he was found out, and the President is taking action.”

“Think they’ll haul him off to prison?”

Pop pounds his fist down on his leg. “Not if I ring his bloody neck with my bare hands first!”

“No Pop, we have to be strong and keep a level head. Besides, there’s a good chance she’s alive and being held by the Russians. Oops.” I shrug my shoulders.

 

“Alive?” Pop looks incredulous. “I want to believe that the crazy Russians spared her but from everything I read in the papers tell me the contraire.”

Josh pipes. “Mr. B, we think she might be alive because she’s worth more to the Russians alive than not.”

Pop is mute as he mulls this over. Josh stands up stretching his legs. I beam up at him. I wouldn’t be able to do this without him.

I cross over and take Pop’s hands in mine. “Josh is right Pop.”

After a minute Josh says, “Ivan is driving back to Schladming tonight. He’s meeting with a few more members of the resort’s staff that worked the week in question. He’s trying to find out if anyone spoke to agent Werthoust early Christmas Eve morning. In particular…” Josh pauses, flipping pages of his notebook about midway. “Mr. Gandler, the housekeeping manager. He saw the black car speed away from the hotel.”

This is news to me. “I thought he was on his way back here.”

Josh looks up. “He hopes to wrap things up and be back by noon tomorrow. With the turn of events regarding Werthoust and Helena Milinski found some digital photographs she took last Christmas. In them is a man she thinks is Fredrik Koshechka. She recently him saw in the village and it sparked her memory. He has a hunch, she’s right. Milinski also made copies of the security tapes seized during the search that oddly disappeared from evidence. She said that she didn’t trust Agent Werthoust either.”

I seize Josh’s arm. “Great! I bet they show Koshechka watching you at the front desk the night you bought the sunrise skiing tickets.”

“What would that prove?” Pop sounds unconvinced.

“That he was there!”

“And he plotted to take Mrs. B while you were gone.”

I look over at Josh; dark circles are starting to form under his eyes. He smiles at me sleepily and yawns. “Pop, why are you being such a doubting Thomas?”

“I won’t be,” Pop says holding up his hands in the air. “If Fredrik Koshechka is the same man in the elevator with us and on the security tapes.”

“Fredrik Koshechka may be able to come up with slick disguises, but he can’t hide the fact that he is extraordinarily large.”

Pop looks over at Josh and me and shakes his finger, “It’s a school night and you two look like something the cat drug in. Both of you need to get a good night’s rest. We’ll see what Ivan turns up tomorrow.”

“Rats!”

“I’m for that.” Josh says yawing again. He stretches, flexing his arm and shoulder muscles.

While walking to Pop’s van, Josh and I make a quick list of things we need to complete on our investigation assignment—before we leave on our Labor Day weekend trip to Florida. Josh jots stuff down in his trusty little notebook.
“See ya!”

While Pop gives Josh a lift home and I go upstairs and prepare to hit the sack. After a quick trip to the bathroom to wash my face and brush my teeth, I crawl into bed exhausted, but I can’t sleep, my brain is too active. I roll out of bed, take my cell phone out of my backpack, and check my messages. There’s one from Char and one from...guess who, Sean Palmer.