Part 2: Interlude
December, 1982
Lee Stetson stood alone in the rapidly darkening frostiness of another DC winter, stamping his feet in what felt like a futile attempt to restore circulation, grateful for the woolen scarf keeping his neck warm. He hated Christmas, and right now he hated T.P. Aquinas. Hordes of holiday shoppers swarmed around him like so many pests, more than one of them colliding into him without a hint of apology. He worked his way closer to the building's façade, trying to shield himself, not just from the icy blast of wind, but also from the crowd.
"Merry Christmas!" a voice boomed out from behind Lee. Lee turned, ready to let T.P. know just what he thought of his idea for a meeting place, but was brought up short as he realized it hadn't been his old friend who had greeted him, but a street corner Santa standing in front of a battered tin bucket, ringing a bell that was slightly off-tune.
"Merry Christmas," Lee muttered back, without a drop of sincerity. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out his wallet, fumbling for some bills to give the man. As he pulled out a crisp twenty, Lee was somewhat shocked when the bearded old gentleman placed his hand on his arm to stall him.
"No, no, son. I don't want your money."
"Huh?" Lee looked suspiciously at the man, wondering what kind of game he was up to.
"Oh, no, son, I'm not up to anything. You certainly have developed a distrustful nature over the years. I guess that comes with the job, right? I just wanted to wish you a Merry Christmas. You know, you look like you could use a friend."
Lee grimaced as he squeezed his eyes shut against the familiar sting of tears. "You have no idea, man," he replied, remembering how his partner, his friend, Eric, had been killed during a mission a month ago, taking a bullet in the head, a bullet that had been meant for Lee.
"Oh, I think I have a pretty good idea, son. You've had another rough year, but I promise you will be happy again, and soon. It will come when you least expect it, and it will last forever."
At that, Lee got mad and he spat out, "What do you know about me, huh? Just leave me alone. That's how I function best. I don't need any bum playing Santa on a street corner telling me about some idealistic happy ending."
He turned away in anger, caught sight of T. P. a few yards ahead and began walking toward him.
"You will be happy again, and you'll get all you ever wished for and more. You have my promise, Lee," Santa called out after him.
Lee raised his hand and waved back at him dismissively, but as the comment registered, he turned around in shock, shouting, "OK, buddy, how do you know my na . . .," before he realized that Santa had disappeared, bucket, bell and all.
He felt a tap on his shoulder, and a familiar voice in his ear. "Lee, my boy, sorry I'm late, but I've got that information about the Afghani terror group you asked about. Now, there's this excellent little Turkish place right around the corner, and they make the most delightful beta. Just what the doctor ordered on a cold night like tonight."
Lee ignored everything his friend said in his agitation. "T. P., did you see where Santa went?" Lee asked. "I think he might be an agent. He knew my name!"
"Santa, Lee? And he knew you name? Well, I didn't see anybody." T.P. looked at Lee with concern. "Are you sure you're not working too hard?" He ushered Lee through the crowd, saying, "Come along, my boy, our beta's waiting."
Snow began falling as the two of them made their way down the busy sidewalk and Lee's memory of his encounter with Santa started to fade until it was nothing more than a faint whisper dancing at the edge of consciousness. As he and T.P. turned the corner, Lee looked at his friend and said, "All right now, don't keep we waiting; tell me what you know about the terrorist group."