Saint Nick

by Bradley Wright

  Nick closed his eyes and pictured the M-60 that sat at the very back of his gun closet in the warehouse. He reached down into the sack, and sure enough, his hand wrapped around the feeder tray. Pulling magic out of the sack never got old. He hoisted the large, belt-fed, fully automatic machine gun from the sack and pulled it over into the front seat beside him. The M-60 had mostly been replaced in actual combat, but Nick had a fondness for it that had lasted since he first held one in his hands over two decades ago.

  Nick checked the bomb—only a minute and thirty-two seconds to go. While Nick didn’t know a lot about Reagan International, he did know that the runway was right next to the Potomac River. Worst case scenario, he would fly right over it and dump the bomb into the water at the last second. He just hoped he could take out Nasir before then.

  26

  As the ground was getting closer beneath him, he turned back around for the sack. This time, he pictured the disintegrating hundred-cartridge belt that fed the machine gun and pulled it out as well. The reindeer were leveling out, ready to land at the private side of the massive airport. Nick didn’t hear any gunshots coming from below, but he didn’t know if that was good or bad. He took the M-60 in his hand, lined the cartridge belt up with the feed hole, pushed it in over the ridge, then pulled back the cocking lever and pushed it back forward. As the skis on the bottom of the sleigh slid atop the grass that sat beside the parking lot, the M-60 was loaded and ready to fire. Nick just hoped there would still be something to shoot at.

  When he looked to his left, he saw Brooke sprinting out of the airport. “Nick! He’s taking off! It’s too late!”

  Nick moved the M-60 over into his lap. “He hasn’t left yet?”

  “The jet is moving out onto the runway now.”

  “Then I still have time.”

  “You can’t go out there. Can that gun even stop a plane like that?”

  “We’re about to find out. What’s the tail number?”

  “I—I can’t remember. But it’s black. The lady just said it’s the only black one out there.”

  Nick whistled and used his right hand to slap the reins. “Were going after the black plane, boys and girls. I’m gonna need your best!”

  Nick didn’t know what, or if they really understood, but he felt like saying it out loud might help them.

  Brooke took a step back. “Nick, don’t! We’ll find out where he’s landing. Don’t put all of these people in danger.”

  The sleigh edged forward.

  “Where Nasir is going to land that plane, they don’t have flight plans. No one will know where he is. More people than we can count will die if I don’t get to him here.”

  The sleigh bolted forward.

  Nick glanced back over his shoulder one last time. Brooke’s face held worry. He could see that she really cared what happened to him.

  “Be careful!” she shouted. He barely heard her, but he didn’t need to. It was written all over her face.

  Nick gave her a confident nod as the reindeer veered to the left, up and over the barrier to the airfield. Careful would have no part in the next sixty seconds. Which was all the time he had left before the bomb would blow him and the reindeer to the North Pole if he didn’t get rid of it.

  Nick obviously knew Reagan was a busy airport, but when they cleared the fence and got some height, the planes were like ants on an anthill. Fortunately, most were commercial airliners––much bigger than the private plane Nasir would be on. And now that he was closer, it was even more helpful that it was black. While there was a lot of traffic on the runways, Nick knew Nasir’s pilot would not be waiting patiently in line like everyone else.

  This would cause multiple problems for Nick. One: He had to be very careful about where exactly he steered the sleigh. If he got too far out over the runways, he could easily be hit by a plane taking off or landing. Two: If he started shooting his M-60 as the reindeer were flying, the bullets could go anywhere. And those spent rounds could easily skip into a nearby plane and either kill a passenger or hit something and blow an entire plane. Those were risks Nick was not willing to take. However, there was also the matter of the ticking bomb. Time to do anything was running short.

  Nick looked down to his left, then steered the reindeer over and looked to his right. He was in dangerous territory now––planes were everywhere. But that was when he spotted a black jet taxiing quickly to the first large runway. Nick tugged on the reins, making the reindeer loop the sleigh out to the right, and then down. Nasir’s jet was going to be on his left. He let go of the reins and took the M-60 in his hands. He scooted to the edge of the sleigh and placed the butt of the gun to his shoulder.

  As the sleigh made a pass, Nick wrapped his finger around the trigger. An unexpected flame of anger sparked inside him. As they came around the backside of the plane, the image of his closest friend, Ricky “Gunner” Thompson, flashed in his mind. His crooked smile, bowlegged walk, and gut-busting laugh all played like a movie in front of the terrorist’s escape vehicle. Nick could feel the emotion rising. That was when the final scene of his friend’s life rolled. It was like Nick was back in the desert. They had been taking fire from all angles. Nick had been trying to cover the remaining members of his team, when an explosion erupted up on his right. Nick remembered watching as Jimmy’s body disintegrated in front of him. A leg had bounced left, and an arm had catapulted forward. His closest friend had just been blown to smithereens. All because of the monster riding in the black jet that was now squarely in Nick’s sights. Nick and his team had been there to support another team that had become trapped. They’d ended up in a fire sack, over half of his men––dead. Including Ricky.

  Nick cleared the nightmare from his head. When he focused in on the plane, he was in perfect position to fire.

  So he did.

  Tat tat tat tat tat tat tat!

  A string of rounds exploded out of the M-60, and rocketed toward the black jet, but Nick wouldn’t see if they hit. He was too busy being thrown into the floor of the sleigh. When the loud bangs from his machine gun popped off, the reindeer jerked right and toward the sky. The thought that he might frighten them never even crossed Nick’s mind. He was used to shooting from tanks, not from behind animals. And their reaction—though obvious in hindsight—caught Nick entirely by surprise.

  When he fell on his back, the M-60 ripped from his hands and clanked off the seat behind him. It then ricocheted off the rail and down over the side. Nick pulled himself to a seated position, but the G-force of the reindeer pulling away in fear wouldn’t allow him to grab the reins. All he could do was hold on. When they shifted course left, then back to the right, Nick watched the bomb bag begin to slide down the seat. He didn’t panic often, but if that bag fell down to the runway, it would be a bigger disaster than if he had just left it sitting outside the White House. And he couldn’t let that happen.

  27

  Losing the machine gun was bad. Nick had a lot of weapons in his inventory, but none of them would do the damage the M-60 could do—which was enough damage to bring down a plane. He didn’t know exactly what he could do with the bomb in the backpack, but he knew it was the only chance he had left to make sure Nasir didn’t get away.

  “Whoa!” Nick shouted. “Whoa, reindeer!” The bag slid again. This time, he could tell it was going to go the distance and slide right out of the sleigh.

  Nick pivoted on the balls of his feet, let go of his grip on the seat and the front rail, and dove for the bag. The bag banged against the inside of the sleigh, fell onto the floor, and disappeared over the side. Nick shot his hand down as he rammed into the side of the sleigh, and he was just able to catch the top strap on the bag. Nick slid his body out over the edge and saw that the bag had landed on the ski beneath him. It had been the only reason he’d been lucky enough to get a grip on it before it fell to the planes below.

  The reindeer leveled out, and Nick was able to pull himself back up and inside. As he grabbed the reins with his left hand an
d pulled, he flipped open the top flap of the bag.

  Thirty seconds.

  It was decision time. Fly over the Potomac and drop the bag in, or take one last pass at Nasir. Nick was able to slow the reindeer and pull them back around. Nasir’s pilot had been able to worm his way around to the head of the runway. He was about to take off. As Nick pulled the sleigh around so he was coming up behind Nasir’s jet, he wondered if there was any more magic in Santa’s ride. Because if he was going to attempt the idea that just popped into his mind, he was going to need a little help from the fat guy, or at least from someone looking down on him from the other realm. Nick glanced at the bomb.

  Twenty-five seconds.

  It was crazy. He looked out over the reindeer. Though he knew they were afraid, they were still willing to go––moving immediately when he tugged the reins. As he stared down the back of the jet, watching it begin to move down the runway, he realized he had to take a shot. The runway was clear in front of the black jet, and no one was behind them now. It was clear that the tower had advised the other planes to keep their distance from the black one that had been steering crazily across the tarmac.

  Nick slapped the reins, and the brave reindeer surged forward. “Give me all you’ve got!”

  They did. The sleigh shot forward, pinning Nick to the back of his seat. He took the bomb bag in his right hand and slid over to the far left side of the sleigh. When Jack had taught Nick how to “drive” the sleigh, he talked about how the reindeer could hear him if his mind was quiet. He could help direct them without speaking a command. Nick had thought at first that, like everything else about the North Pole, this had to be total bullshit. But now he was quiet. Now that Nick was intensely focused on the monster in that plane in front of them, the reindeer slid in position as if Nick was guiding them by hand.

  Nice and steady. Just get me as close to that plane as you can.

  The black jet was really moving now––rocketing down the middle of the runway. Nick glanced over at the bag.

  Fifteen seconds.

  Nick didn’t know a lot about planes. He was Army, not Air Force. But he did know that the plane was getting ready to leave the runway. It was go time.

  Give me a little of that warp, guys, he directed a thought to the reindeer.

  When the sleigh pulled forward, he couldn’t believe it. But he didn’t dwell on it. Instead, he tightened his grip on the bag and focused on the right wing of the jet. He had one shot at this before Nasir would be able to fly away––maybe this time, disappearing forever.

  The tips of this particular jet’s wings weren’t like a commercial aircraft. Instead of just smoothly coming to a point, the tips of the wings on this plane curved up a foot or two into the air at the ends and narrowed to a thin point at the top. Nick assumed it was for aerodynamics. But for his purposes, it was there to hold a special gift.

  The plane’s wheels began to lift off the ground. The reindeer avoided the jet wash by staying outside the wing as the sleigh pulled even. Get me a little closer, he thought. The plane’s nose tilted skyward. Nick couldn’t believe it, but not only did the reindeer pull him closer, they also tilted up, matching the trajectory of the jet. Nick saw the runway turn into water below as they moved out over the river. The bomb was still ticking down.

  Ten seconds.

  Nick leaned out over the edge. He hooked his right elbow around the end of the front rail and leaned out. He held the back strap of the bag in a death grip with his left hand and extended his arm outward. The tip of the wing was right there. He just needed a little bit more. The pull of the wind against the bag was insane, and the strap was slipping from his fingers. His arms were on fire.

  Closer, he thought.

  The sleigh inched closer at his plea. He extended as far as his right arm would let him, but he needed a little more to hook the bag. The reindeer understood without him having to ask. As the pull of the wind became too much for Nick, he shot his left arm forward with all the power he had left. Just as the plane moved away from the sleigh on a new heading, Nick let go of the strap, and it caught on the upward tip of the wing, then slid down and pinned itself, trapping it to the plane.

  Nick slid over to the middle of the seat and took hold of the reins. Slowly pulling back, letting the reindeer know they had done their job. He watched as the black jet moved away from them in the deep blue sky. As it did, Nick counted down in his head.

  Three . . . Two . . . One . . .

  Subconsciously, a smile grew across Nick’s face. “Merry Christmas motherfu––”

  BOOM!

  Nick had seen a lot of explosions over the years, but none had been more beautiful than this. The ball of fire plumed in the distance against the deep blue sky. The man who’d taken far too many innocent people to their graves would never see one of his own. There was a special place in hell for people like Nasir Samara, and Nick was just happy to be the one to be able to put him where he belongs.

  Nick took a long, deep breath as he took it all in. His heart was pounding, and his adrenaline was pumping. He’d done it. He got the bastard that killed his brothers-in-arms—the same son of a bitch that had murdered his friend.

  “For you, Ricky. RIP, brother.”

  Nick slapped the reins against the rail, and once again told the reindeer, “Take me home.”

  28

  A frozen wind blew through the streets of the North Pole. With it came snowflakes. They danced and swayed toward the ground, aglow in all the colors from the lights that lined every single house in the village. Every Christmas Eve night at the North Pole had always been a frenzy. Elves were always running on weary legs to get the last of the presents properly inventoried, so Santa would be able to pluck just the right gift, for just the right little boy or girl, at just the right house.

  There was a frenzy this Christmas Eve night as well, but it wasn’t like those of the past. This time, instead of putting the finishing touches on the celebration feast set for Christmas Day, Mrs. Claus was leading all the elves in the village in a march toward Nick’s front door.

  Inside Nick’s house, he’d just got the fire going in the living room. He stabbed at the logs being singed by the yellow-orange flame with his wrought-iron poker, then placed it back in the stand when the wood began to pop and crack. One of his favorite sounds. He shuffled over to the recliner that he’d pushed to the middle of the room—the fireplace at his feet—and his sixty-five-inch flat-panel TV hanging perfectly above the mantle. He switched it on, flipped over to ESPN, and to the only bowl game that was on that evening. It was the Hawaii Bowl. Nick didn’t have a clue who was playing, nor did he care.

  He reached over to the table he’d pulled over beside the chair, picked up the bottle of Woodford Reserve Double Oaked bourbon, and poured enough in his glass to kill the aching in his shoulder from smacking into the side of the sleigh no more than an hour ago. Before he took a drink, he picked up his cutter and snipped the end of his Cuban Cohiba Robusto. He then struck a match, held the flame to the end of his cigar, and turned it clockwise in his fingers while he puffed to get a perfect, even burn. The cigar had a slightly salty taste that paired exquisitely with the sweet bourbon he sipped as the smoke plumed in the air.

  After another drink, the weight of the last two days finally began to pull him down. He was tired. It had been a long time since he’d been in any sort of combat situation. It was clear he needed to step up his training if he was going to continue this whole Saint Nick gig. The satisfaction of seeing Nasir’s plane explode was enough to make him want to do it more. However, at the moment, he was content to be left to his vices. He felt he deserved some time to revel in the day’s accomplishment.

  When he arrived back at the NP, he’d been greeted by a mob of worried and angry little elves. He told them all to go back to bed, because he had already delivered the only present he was going to deliver that Christmas. They of course had no idea what he meant, but they didn’t need to know the details of taking down one of the world’
s scariest monsters. He’d seen the hurt in Jack’s eyes, and Mrs. Claus—though happy he was back safe—couldn’t hide her disappointment that Christmas was canceled this year.

  Nick had tried to thank Jack for his lesson on how to steer the reindeer with his mind. He’d told him it saved his life, and probably a lot of others, but not even that was enough to bring Jack out of his sorrow. Nick never had been into the Christmas holiday, but he imagined that even if he had, he still wouldn’t care enough to ride back out into the world to dispense toys. Not on that evening anyway. Zeke had been the only one there that had actually been happy to see Nick after he announced he wasn’t delivering presents. But after a quick thank you for helping save the president’s life, and his own back at the White House, he sent Zeke home. He was too tired to entertain.

  Nick had sent the sleigh back down to DC to pick up Brooke. If she even wanted to come to the North Pole. He didn’t actually know where she stood with things now that Nasir was gone and Agent Andrews, who had assigned her to Nick, was dead. He figured she would probably just want to go home. He couldn’t blame her for that. Though, there was a part of him that had hoped she might be ringing his doorbell. He didn’t really know why he felt that way. He knew that Brooke hated him. That was probably why he’d started to like her—he always had taken the hardest route in life.

  Any way he looked at it––the village being mad at him, Brooke not wanting to see him, and kids not getting presents that night––he didn’t really care. He had his bourbon, his cigar, a nice warm bed to finally get some rest in, and that was enough for him.

  Ding dong. The doorbell rang.

  Nick took another sip of bourbon, turned the volume up on the TV, and took another puff. The smells of wood burning, sweet cigar smoke, and whiskey intoxicated his senses enough to not give a damn who was at the front door.