EPILOGUE~ OPERATION: COOKIE CUTTER ~ by B.A. Linhares

I slide the thin straps of my new green swishy-party-dress on my bare shoulders and slip on my new silver metallic strappy high heels. Long swirling curls bounce around my face and down the back of my neck with the movement. I stop in front of my full length mirror and slowly twirl around taking one last glance before heading out to the big event at the White House. No longer is there a scrawny awkward kid looking back at me.

My cell phone rings out. I dig it out of my little party purse. It's Josh. I put it to my ear. "Hey."

"You ready for our big night?" He asks, sounding more like a man than the kid I grew up with.

"I am. Mom helped me with my makeup then she piled my hair on top of my head, in a Cinderella fashion. I look like a fairy princess." I stroll over to the mirror and smile at my reflection.

"So have you finally become the woman you always wanted to be?"

I balk. "Uh, still a work in progress."

What does that even mean?

"Anyway, I look like a waiter. When I walk though the door, they'll probably hand me a tray of Hors d'oeuvre."

I laugh. "See you at the White House partner."

"I'll save you a seat next to the President," Josh says and clicks off.

I smile to my self and cross the hall. My parent's bedroom door is ajar. I stick my face threw the opening but don't see them. "Hello?"

"In here sweetie," Mom calls out from the bathroom. "Come on in!"

I enter and see the ‘rents are in their bathroom...sharing the mirror over the sink. They look so happy. They're never out of each other's view… Come to think of it, I haven’t seen them apart since Pop and I––along with half the town––met Mom’s entourage at the airport about a month ago. Pop gave her one of those Hollywood kisses and it was on the front page of practically every newspaper and website in the Universe.

As I cross the floor, a female voice on the television in their bedroom mentions Mom. I stop short. You'd think I'd be used to hearing her name in public. I guess having her back home will take time to sink in fully.

"Yes, tonight the world will be watching as Special Agent Eva Blakely is honored along with her family and others tonight."

I find the remote sitting on the bedspread, raise the volume and stand in front the set as the camera hones in on two female reporters dressed in evening wear, somewhere outside on the White House grounds. It's twilight, the landscape is filled with twinkle lights. Somber Marines dressed in blues, stand guard at every door and entrance. Mom walks over and opens her jewelry box sitting on the dresser.

I say, "They're showing a live shot of the White House. The place is packed with the press, security and a slew of important looking people."

Mom flicks an eye at the screen. She's tired of seeing herself and hearing about her horrific capture by Valentine. She says it's inhuman what a few leftovers from the Soviet totalitarian regime put everyone though because of their bullheadedness.

One reporter says, "I don't know about you, but I was glued to the set during the entire Blakely thing."

The other woman adds, "And… I’m willing to bet the whole world will be glued to their TV's tonight like they were for the––how long did it take? Like, twenty-four hours for Special Agent Ivan Brody and a bunch of macho-types to negotiate with the Russian government for her release from that awful women's prison."

"Man oh man. What a strong woman Eva Blakely is...like the lady who famously said, "Our office doesn't make 'em, we only break 'em."

I say, "Elizebeth Friedman. I read all about her on the Internet."

Someone must've whispered the name in the woman reporter's ear. "She's a modern day Elizebeth Friedman," the correspondent says, nodding her head, presses on the earpiece. Mom stands in front the TV and I help her put on her earrings.

The other correspondent adds, "But prettier and smarter."

Mom cringes. "Oh please. These reporters are so full of it!"

"Apparently the party has already started," Pop says, peering out of the bathroom. "Looks like the Golden Globe Awards." He emerges from the bathroom looking like the Beast dressed for the ball in Beauty and Beast.

Mom shakes her head in disgust as she steps into cream colored high heels. "I hope they don't make us walk down a red carpet."

I blink. "Yes, that would be really bizarre." It's sick how the government is becoming more and more like Hollywood.

"And can I say WOW! This seems to be a way bigger deal than I expected." Pop likes to kid around, mimicking me and my friends. Holding up a hand mirror, he turns sideways in the cramped bathroom, checking the back of his wild red (recently cut) hair.

"Yeah, way bigger…" I call back, and place my hands on my stomach as the butterflies multiply.

"Well, it is a big deal what you two helped bring to fruition." Mom comes over and hugs me gently. "You save little ole me. Tonight you, Christopher, and everyone involved in my release should be honored in front of the whole world."

"Uh, Mom, hello…just saying that you're the heroine here."

I turn and really look at her. She's wearing a form fitting royal blue silk dress with long sleeves. Her sparkling blue zircon stud earrings match her eyes. Mom's figure is perfect, to die for at her age.

"Oh my, you look so beautiful."

"Thank you." She touches my chin.

"You too sweetheart." 

Pop smiles broadly. "I am the luckiest lad on the planet."

The TV anchor lady wolf whistles and catches all of our interest. The three of us stand side by side in front of the TV.

President Parks speaks first. "As promised, I pledge to be a more transparent and honest administration. I apologize for those who would deceive you and I pledge to fight to make absolutely certain they are investigated, charged, and justice is served to the full extent of the laws. So, on that note…I give you the man who made this extraordinaire mission a complete success with not one fatality or hair harmed on a human head. My fellow Americans, Special Agent Ivan Brody."

The crowd rises and applauds as Ivan, dressed in an Armani tuxedo, strolls in and stands behind a podium in the rose garden next to President Park.

I point. "Check out Agent Ivan Brody working the James Bond suit."

The news anchor breaks in and says, "Because the Agent Ivan Brody plans to real all of Fredrick Koshechka's manifesto aloud, we will hold all commercials until he is finished."

Parks joins the others in applause as she steps away from the podium.  Ivan nods at the crowd. When everyone is quiet, he holds up a small piece of paper and begins reading.

"That's the note signed слон––"

Mom starts to explain and I interject.

"I know. I means Elephant. Sorry, I interrupted you Mom, but is it the note Valentine tossed into my Mustang?" The CIA took everything Josh and I wrote down or had pertaining to Mom's case.

"No." Mom shakes her head and slides on several thin sliver bracelets. "This particular note was attached to the packet containing my missing personnel documents. Fredrick simply labeled them: The Blakely Files and sighed the last page of his manifesto as the Elephant. His code name while in the KGB."

"Right." My eyes glued to the TV screen, I nod, recalling the spy book Mr. J loaned me. Uh-oh, I still have it! Yikes! I need to return it ASAP! Or did he say keep it. I can't remember. Bits and pieces of my memory were lost after my surgery. The doctors say they may come back or maybe not. Sometimes it makes me sad, but after almost drowning, I'm glad and thankful to be alive. Thank you God. I notice Ivan's eye glancing down at the podium. He slowly opens the black binder containing Valentines words, and begins to read in a booming precise tone. As a result, everyone is able to hear and understand every word that comes out of his mouth.

“As God’s witness, I confess to the murders of Boris Artamonov and his wife. Please forgive me." Ivan stops reading and looks at the camera. "History tells you about the horrific methods employed by the KGB so I will not go into the gory details written here."

I curl my eyes at Mom. Hum. Did the Russians hurt her physically?

She catches me looking at her. "What?"

"Nothing." I look back at the screen. Mom insists that the officers only used verbal interrogation methods while trying to persuade her to return and work as a spy for Russia. Nevertheless, she's trained to hold back certain details.

Ivan finds his place and begins reading again. "Boris Artamonov's teenage Granddaughter Ivanova––the woman you know as Eva Blakely––as you know, she evaded my efforts during the flight by not eating her in-flight meal, leaving my most important mission incomplete. And my career at odds. But that is another story." Ivan flips to the next page. "I was in fact the Soviet KGB agent assigned to kidnap––not kill as misreported by the media––the American Special Agent Blakely. This was to take place while she was on assignment in Austria. I chose to complete my long mission during the Christmas holidays. Thanks to the grossly incompetent Agent Werthoust fellow, her bungling handler, and corrupt CIA officers. The United States of America's leaders and intelligence have time and again failed their citizenry… It was a success…nevertheless, bittersweet because I regret of the pain my actions have caused."

Visibly displeased by Valentine's degradation of America, Ivan (a patriot) pauses here to regain his composure. Cameras make that annoying clicking sound as they scan over the chosen media attending this event, and friends of the administration sitting in rows of folding chairs on the Rose Garden lawn. The camera, once again, focuses in on Ivan and as if on cue, he continues in his well trained American accent. Not a lick of his native Russian notes come out in his speech. He appears to be 100% American to those who don't know him intimately. They should see him after a few beers. He's hilarious!

"Those assigned to protect your Special Agents from such an incident, failed to stop me." Ivan mutters under his breath but loud enough for all to hear. "May he rot in hell."

Someone yells "YES!" Restless noises emit from the crowd as the camera pins down the guilty party. It's a young male RT reporter.

Ivan starts up again, "…Anyway, let me remind you again that these are KGB Agent Koshechka's words." He tugs at his black bowtie. "As a senior citizen, he tends to ramble…" Ivan holds up a flat hand. "Please bear with me. Reading his is more painful than Green Beret training."

This draws a round of laughter.

Shaking his head, Ivan turns the page of the thick report with a jerk. "Although thought dead by her family, and the media, I assure you, Agent Eva Blakely is alive and well––thanks to my dear sister… who helped me in this, my final mission. My endeavor to clear my conscious and gain my soul. In any event, you will find Eva in good physical shape. She is being held in a special section of the women’s prison in the town of Paneavezys, Lithuania…refer to maps."

Ivan looks up and waits for the loud muttering to quiet down.

I can't help but think about all that she went though. Mom is standing in front of the mirror above the dresser, brushing her smooth, shiny shoulder length chocolate brown hair. I glance at her reflection. She turns her head and smiles at me.

"You okay?"

She asks me this about a hundred times a day.

I nod and swallow the lump in my throat. "Um, sure. Taking one day at a time." My pat comeback.

Her smile fades into a faraway look. "Yeah, me too."

Ivan begins again and I direct my attention back to the television even though I've heard, discussed, and read Koshechka's manifesto several times over. Each time, I was so ready to lay some whoop-ass on Werthoust. However, now, I just want to get on with my life.

I step back and let barefoot Mom go into her walk-in clothes closet. She returns holding a pink shoebox.

Ivan is saying, "…for months, the truth regarding Eva's fate remained concealed from the world's eyes and ears. All because of an arrogant division director plus others supposedly in charge of the United States' State Department––you know their names. They lied to avert potential embarrassment to the President, the US Intelligence department, and the United Nations."

This is so embarrassing for America. I roll my eyes skyward. "Werthoust is such a low life. I hope he gets everything he deserves and more!"

Mom laughs. "You are so your father's daughter." Mom remove the tissue out of her new shoes and tosses it in the shoebox. She says, "After reading the manifesto, Christopher was ready to storm the Pentagon."

I laugh and watch Ivan roughly flip to the next page. Before reading it, I notice his hooded blue eyes keep darting from the page to the crowd. He frowns and takes time. I gesture. "This is torture for him."

Mom puts the shoebox back on a shelf and closes the closet door. She put her hairbrush away, and says, "It's a slap on the face of America."

I swallow again. "Truly."

"Be proud. We won this battle. The President thinks the world deserves to hear both sides of the story." Mom frowns at me. "You sure you're okay?"

"Yes. Just butterflies from all the excitement, I guess."

What's making me freaked isn't just the event. I can't stop thinking about Josh and my plans to move to Gainesville, to attend the University of Florida. We also plan to be roommates. The 'rents don't know. There lies the rub. Plus, I haven't even officially been accepted. I am waiting for a letter. So, why tell them yet until it's a sure thing. I'm listening with one ear while Ivan keeps reading.

"It was a most unfortunate that young Cookie had to suffer during this ordeal.

Even though the Blakely family is a household name, it's always weird to hear my name said on the television. It draws my full attention back to what Ivan is saying.

"It pains me greatly that Cookie grieved one second over the loss of her mother––as well as her husband, Christopher. As the story goes, Eva was only six years old when the Artamonov family became US citizens. They were instructed by U.S. government officials, psychologist and numerous specialist, on how to conceal every part of their past lives. Long after the transformation, Eva learned the truth. To escape punishment, her Diplomatic father had to defect from Russia...or be killed. Soviet authorities tried and sentenced the Artamonov family to death in absentia. Even little Eva (Ivanova) was to be put to death. In secrecy, Eva inquired about her indictment––why were they accusing her––she was just a child…"

Ivan pauses while the people gasp audibly.

"At the time of learning this, I believe Eva still lived in Georgetown, Washington, D.C. She'd recently become employed in the Pentagon with the C.I.A. as a cryptologists intelligence officer. She quickly advanced and became the world's number one code breaker. The Russian government wanted her back badly enough to employ me––an old man––to complete the mission. I am the best agent they ever had."

Several silent minuets pass while Ivan fidgets and skims the next few pages.

"Mom. Is Ivan okay?"

She looks at the TV and says, "No agent likes laying bare a fellow agent's life. I goes against every moral fiber in our being."

Ivan gesturing wildly with his hands, takes a few deep breaths and says, "Look. For those of you who aren't aware: In 1977 the Soviet Navy adopted a torpedo that could travel underwater at a speed of 200 knots or 370 km/h."

I say, "That isn't in Valentine's manifesto."

"He's going completely off script," Mom whispers, more to her self, "Huh. Squall must've been declassified without my knowing."

Ivan really gets into talking about this torpedo.

"The Shkval ("squall") is a high-speed super-cavitating rocket-propelled torpedo designed to be a rapid-reaction defense against U.S. submarines undetected by sonar. It operates by racing through the water with a cushion of air. And can also be used as a countermeasure to an incoming torpedo by forcing the hostile projectile to abruptly change course…and possibly break its guidance wires. Even though this powerful weapon was developed in Soviet times, it is available today for export sale in a modernized form."

Agent Brody clears his throat. There's nervous chatter coming from the media.

Ivan hold up a flat hand. "Eh. People, the world needs to hear the truth. So, still cloaked in secrecy, the Shkval or Squall came to broad public attention during a spy scandal in 2000. So, according to the Russian government, Agent Blakely was further charged with espionage because of her mission as one of the two CIA agents working undercover as US diplomats attempting to get information about the Squall torpedo. They were detained in the Russian capital in 2002." He takes a long drink of water, and then says, "But I digress."

Pop makes growl noises. I didn't realize that he is standing behind us. He opens a bottle of after shave sitting on the dresser, sprinkles some on his big hands then pats his face.

"So, looks as if Agent Werthoust is actually going to be charged with treason and a whole bunch of other crimes." He'd rather be boiled in oil than hear again that his beautiful wife was caged in a Russian prison. He holds his arms out straight and I pick up the lint brush and do my thing on Pop's broad shoulders. Pop twirls slowly as I remove any lint or hair particle on his tuxedo. "Let's just pray that he’s in the pokey for life!"

Mom shakes her head. "It’s so mind boggling! Why didn't I see his inadequacies?" Mom takes the lint brush from me and works on Pop's trousers. He's a big man and it takes two women to whip him into shape. "I still have so many unanswered questions." Mom frowns as she smooths the creases of Pop's trousers.

Pop bends at the waist and plants a kiss on top of Mom's head. "You aren't responsible for him any more love. You're retired."

She rises up. "But it was my job to query everything."

Once Mom was home safe and sound, I finally told them about my encounter with Valentine on the plane home from Florida. Pop about went ballistic. Weird thing is nobody has seen hide or hare of him or his wife since that day. It’s as if they virtually disappeared from the face of the earth. Here I was sitting next to one of the most wanted men in the universe, and the top officials couldn't can’t catch him. Valentine is truly a slippery snake.

Anyway, tonight we are going to (GET THIS) THE WHITE HOUSE! Yep! Agent Ivan Brody is getting some major rewards for bravery in the line of duty—or something like that—for the way he pulled off Operation Cookie Cutter. Can you believe it? Little ole me…Cookie Blakely…having dinner with THE PRESIDENT! I even get to take a friend...Josh...like, who else.

Oh, yeah...Char and Billy are engaged, so I guess we don’t need to go see Madame Suzi to know what’s in Char’s future. And thanks to Jimmy Beal’s photographs, Zak got a brand new VW out of his lawsuit against Senator Brennan. Now, Zak wants to be a lawyer—in Australia—where the waves are like totally radical Duuuude! Oh my Gosh, that reminds me...after Ivan took off in Peter’s Porsche...Peter went back to the beach and found my surfboard! Seems the longhaired surfer dudes I met surfing, found it and were looking everywhere for me. I freaked when Peter shipped my surfboard to me the next day. When I got back home, a note from our post person said it was waiting for me at the Georgetown Post Office. And get this! Josh and I are going back to Florida for Spring Break!

At any rate, life goes on. Beggar the cat—formally, a stray—has taken up permanent residency at the end of my bed.

Mom is laughing liltingly. I sigh contentedly, lean on the stair railing, and watch them. Pop is standing in front of the hall mirror making faces. He attempts to smooth the springy red curls on his head. Mom bends at the waist, sharing the mirror with him. She applies rose colored lipstick. Her hair is long now and most days she wears it swirled up in what she calls a “chignon”. Tonight it is down. It rocks!

“Eva, do I look okay?”

“Oh my yes...you look very handsome in your tuxedo!” Mom says straightening his bow tie. Pop slides his hand around her slender waist, Mom rises up on her toes and kisses his flushed cheek.

Eva glances down at her watch and says, “We better go, mustn't keep Madame President waiting. Christopher, go see if our limo is outside.”

I smile. "Limo?"

Someday soon, I hope my life gets back to normal.

Yeah...right!

Josh meets me at the front of the drive.

I step out and he says, "Wow."

We walk among the crowd of whos-who making our way to the ballroom. I whisper, "Josh, no one knows that President Parks asked me to prepare a speech."

"This so cool C, I can't believe you and I are getting full scholarships!"

"Yeah. I know. I can't believe that I have to go up in front of all these big wigs. When the President of the United states insist..."

"Florida here we come! Sorry, what did you say?"
I smile. "Forget it. We are clearly on different planets."

So after the rewards dinner, President Parks goes up to the podium and asks for everyone’s attention. Once she has it, she says, "I have asked someone special to speak in her words tonight." She gestures for me to come up to the front of the room. "Future agent Cookie Blakely."

Complete numb, I stand up and walk down between the tables filled with important people, cameras flashing. Shockingly, people rise up and applaud moi. I have no idea how I got there. My eyes adjust as I place my notes on the podium and then lean toward the microphone.

The ballroom grows quiet and it feels like about a zillion eyes are on me. I smile stiffly and locate Mom, then Josh. Pop's big smiling face is easy to fine. He pumps a fist then blows me a kiss. I touch my cheek as if I caught it. Next, I take a deep breath and pray for God's help. A warm glow flows through me.

“With the help of the CIA, my grandmother and grandfather, a Russian diplomat, defected to America with their six-year-old––my Mom. After that, the Russian government sentenced all three of them to death in absentia. A cruel and inhumane gesture. Mom grew up speaking English in American schools. However because she refused to forget her home and past, she spoke perfect Russian and launched her career as a cryptologist. Years later, her parents were murdered by eating in-flight meals poisoned with a unique cocktail of deadly poison risen. Thankfully, it was quickly traced to a Russia laboratory by a friend of hers. Mom was saved by a bout of motion sickness which she still suffers from today. While flying she couldn't eat so she was spared."

Everyone cheers.

“While in college, Mom learned several more languages and became a Secret Agent linguist for the CIA. This was during, and right after, the Cold War. And before my parents even met. After I was born, Mom went back to work as a highly trained Special Agent. Much like our troops, she sacrificed her home life for America. Where her heart was…even though she was born in Russia and worked on foreign soil most of the time. Until recently, I had no idea of the extreme danger she’d encountered."

I look at my mother. We lock eyes. She mouths, "I love you."

I mouth, "Love you too." I take another a deep breath and draw on the strength I have inherited from her.

“When I was fifteen, we went on a family ski trip in Austria. On Christmas Eve, Pop and I got up at the crack of dawn and sunrise skiing. While we were gone, a former-KGB agent…”

I pause to revise my thoughts.

I wave my hand. “Eh! You all know about her kidnapper who I nicknamed Valentine because of the heart-shaped birthmark over his eye. Yes, he's still on the lam, so I won’t repeat what the media has already reported a zillion times." I smile. "No offence media folks."

Laughter fills the room.

“Anyway, as you know, Valentine came to our hotel suite, kidnapped Mom and a locked her in Russian women’s prison. The Old Russian government was hell bent on making Mom pay for her father’s sins. They wanted her back. She was Russian. Russia needed her on their side to work as a spy. Therefore, we were told she was dead… It was tough…"

I take a second to regain my composure.

"Mom’s identity was highly classified so Pop and I knew nothing prior to learning all this. I went a little wacko. Anyway, Ivan, Josh, and I put our heads together and played connect the dots with clues about my family that we dug up using the Library of Congress, old family photos, and over the Internet. I was lucky enough to have the US government's help. Squeakily wheel thing."

More laughter.

"Well, long story short, the world watched as Ivan put together a covert operation and rescued her.” I shrug. “The rest is history. I just want the world to know that she is my hero.”

I begin clapping and the whole place rises to their feet to give Mom a standing O. After it's all over, I realize that I never once looked down at my notes.

The following year, Pop’s catering business is booming. Rumor that Mom’s life secret might be put to pen set off the hungry Washington, D.C. media. Then after a few interviews with the main stream, word was out that she'd started writing a her biographical non-fiction novel. An even bigger media feeding frenzy began. Ivanova Artamonov, aka Agent Eva Sheahan-Blakely’s astounding story is about to be revealed in a best selling novel (co-written by Moi) and titled: Operation: Cookie Cutter. Get this, Hollywood is interested in making it into a movie.

Oh, and read about Cookie Blakely’s next adventures in

Operation: Fortune Cookie

Operation: Cookie Crumbs

Note from writer.

On May 1^st of 2005, the idea for the Cookie Blakely character planted itself (herself) into my subconscious. As if petitioning me to write her stories, every morning Cookie wakes me up at ungodly hours with her thoughts and ideas about the story in progress or future adventures. I’m serious. There is no shutting her up. So, I am forced to get up, splash cold water on my face, drink coffee, and write.

Cookie’s adventure stories are written to entertain whoever happens to find one of them in their possession and are entirely made up fiction not based on any prior anything or anybody.

Oh yeah, let me get this out now so no one is confused about how fast or not so fast Cookie ages. Cookie’s adventures are written in “real time” and since we (I mean, I) love to do research on the Internet, you may recognize current events, products, celebrities, places, and so forth.

Book Jacket

My first book, Operation: Cookie Cutter, Cookie turns seventeen and is a senior at Georgetown High school. In my second book, Operation: Cookie whatever, Cookie is still a senior in high school and still helps Pop when needed on his catering jobs—however she has taken on a new job. After playing a major role in wrapping up her mom’s screwed up investigation, the president asks Cookie and Josh O’Dell to head up a new branch of the NSA, called Crime Prevention Raiders (C.P.R.). The president and the C.I.A. still contract Eva for certain cases but due to Fredric still being M.I.A. she doesn’t travel anymore. Cookie’s mom Eva, semi-retires from the F.B.I. to write her story, helps Christopher with his flourishing catering business and is now the mom she never was to Cookie. Anyway, as the Cookie Adventure books are written Cookie might be months or years older, who knows what the future holds, right? At any rate, I promise, it will all jive. I hope.