18:25 Eastern European Time (EET)(UTC+02:00) Lapland: the northern most region of Finland.

Tall, overhead lights revealed a heavy falling snow.  This is good, Wara thought, perhaps the fresh buildup will help erase our tracks leading in and out of this complex.  It was December, and today’s daylight had already come and gone in a slow blink.  He recalled his briefing for not the first time; during winter, one could expect only a couple hours of light per day.  The polar night it was called, the opposite of summer’s midnight sun. Now was an optimal window to mobilize, as the shadows became welcome allies.  He glanced over at his partner, agent Blaine, who was wearing a preoccupied smile, and wasn’t walking like a trained professional at all, more like a pet monkey.  In this line of work, your life is as much your partners as your own.  The credibility of your mutual cover identities is everything, and one must be as flexible as liquid if your accomplice goes off script.  Wara paused, but resisted the urge to question Blaine’s skipping movements, as he also swallowed the urge to open a bargaining ticket with God.  He instead clung to the hope that it was part of an evolving deep cover persona, and not an emerging psychological break.  And who could blame him if he had cracked, the pressure bore heavy on Wara too, almost suffocating him.  Just Breathe.  Find your inner stillness.  He silently forced the exercise into a drummed echo as he continued to carefully advance in the snowy terrain.  They were almost to the front door, where he knew the entire scene would change.  Once opened, there would be no turning back.  “Remember, we can’t let anyone catch on that we are watching them if we want to retain the upper hand.  Let’s get a drink, identify the assets, and be in the saunas by nine.”  Through the night snow gusts Blaine replied “watch for my signal.  If I touch my nose like this, I’m onto something.”  Was that excitement in his voice?  You’d think this were Christmas morning 1990 with a freshly unwrapped Super Nintendo in his clutches.  Everyone copes with stress differently, and to face one’s own mortality could crack even the top graduates of the academy.  Wara cleared his throat.  “Hey. If I don’t get the chance to tell you later man, you did good back there in the maze.  Real good.  That intel led us right to this lounge of the big players.  And…it has also been an honor working with you. Truly.” Agent Blaine giggled and lunged for the door handle.  Above the wooden door, illuminated by string lights in the eves, read a sign: “Skybar”.  “Come on, Let’s do this!”  he said impatiently, holding the door open and looking back into the Finnish landscape and the dark silhouette of his trailing partner emerging into the light. 

16:30

Two hours prior

We sat in the mess hall, table and benches made of solid slabs of ice, with insulating wooden boards draped with heavy fur hides.  Some of the plates and cups were made of ice as well.  We were eating salmon, talking with American accents, and sitting with a few women Blaine had successfully honey potted.  I could see Blaine’s breath as he was speaking dangerously close to one of the brunettes.  This room was fashioned like the inside of a mine, with timbers carved of ice and giant, chiseled ore clusters imbedded into the walls glowing purple or yellow.  The entire structure was a temporary work of art in fact, and totally built anew each winter.  Frozen water pulled from lake Lehtojärvi created the blocks of ice and fed the snow machines.  Giant forms were filled, the snow was compacted, and thus all the walls, arches, hallways, and rooms were created.  The Arctic Snow Hotel is then fully adorned with ice and snow sculptures, morphing each year based on which artists are contracted to do the carving.  The final touch of hidden wiring is roughed into the structure itself, powering multicolored bulbs, which transforms the numerous sculptures into absolutely magical displays. It is all quite impressive, and also very remote; the perfect rendezvous for a summit of illegal activity.  A summit we are purposed to infiltrate.   A destination like this made it easy to pose as a tourist, in order to subvert an organization that works in secrets, in code, but all out in the open.  We nicknamed them McAvee for this reason, and they were indeed a major player in the game.  Anyone could be the enemy.  Any step could be the last. 

The table adjacent us was full of Norwegian travelers in peeled back ski gear.  There must have been mixed nationalities at the table because they mostly spoke in English.  They were feasting on Reindeer, which is the native deer this far north, and discussing the animal.  “Perhaps the population has gone out of control after the success of Rudolf and company.  The cows back home just couldn’t resist the celebrity studs.” One of the gals joked.  I knew there were husbanded reindeer farms as a fact, and I had spotted one running around in the wild too.  “Though Santa may damn well employ all females now…you couldn’t tell from the sky, both genders have antlers after all.”  Another woman responded with an air of humor, though I didn’t find it particularly funny.  Interesting yes, funny no.  My observations were cut short by a cheering outburst from our table that called me back around.  Our Scandinavian neighbors aren’t in the game I concluded as I turned smiling to our present company.  Blaine had suggested a visit to the Icebar, as he had casually placed his hand on the thigh of the blond to his left.  A dangerous game this hotshot was playing.

17:47

the Icebar

Blaine’s specialty lied in attracting attention and creating distraction, and his methods were always daring, some would even say reckless.  But, people’s reactions to him could reveal a lot, if you knew what to look for.  For instance, when he abruptly shattered his shot glass against the domed wall of the Icebar and yelled “I love wodka” at the top of his false Russian lungs, it somehow unified this room of strangers.  It 100% helped that the staff had remained genial, which in turn allowed the small crowd a relaxed response of mild shock and gleeful revelry, and afforded his partner license to exhale.  There is a national pride for Russians and their vodka, at least for the couple of Russians who were eager to join in on the celebration of drinking it.  “You Americans sure know how to break the ice” the Russian quipped.  Could these blokes be the intelligence officers we were here for?  “How about a beer back to wash these shots down. For new friends!” Wara suggested loudly, drawing them into conversation.  Denis (pronounced den-ees), the tall one, informed them that beer was not even recognized in Russia as alcohol until 2013.  “Beer is what you Americans call soft drink.” Brushing the suggestion away with his hand  “Good drink is cold Vodka. By itself only.  No sip, just shoot” he pantomimes with his right hand while maintaining intense eye contact.  He was perpetually sporting a slight smile formed on shiny, rosy red lips that sat a little crooked on his face.

  Blaine is excited to break more ice on this giant igloo-like interior and Wara called for another round for the entire bar (a perk of the generous allotment of petty cash to keep an operation lubricated in such ways as this).  Shot glasses made of ice were lined up along the bar top and a steady stream of vodka snaked its way from one end to the other.  Varying the elevation of the pour proved unlucky as the booze found the corner of a glass and curled back out and over the bar top, splashing the other Russian, Klim on the boot.  Klim had made no attempt to dodge, and being not nearly as jolly as Denis, looked down with contorted face and spat out “Zibeesh” darkly.

“What does that mean?”, Wara leaned up to ask Denis.

“I am understanding you, yes.  It means, ‘fucking perfect’…zibeesh”

Scanning the room of mostly tourists, agent Blaine had meandered close to a couple against the wall, whose revelry seemed slightly forced, like they were preoccupied in mid argument or something.  That something may very well be that they were on the clock.    

“Be here now” Wara stated to the couple as the chaos of agent Blaine circled close by. 

They stared back in determined silence, questioning with four eyebrows and countless crow’s feet. 

“It’s the beautiful perspective of Ram Dass, and I like to say it before I take a drink, if you’ll indulge me” continued Wara suavely, saluting them with his small cup before draining it in one belabored toss back.  It had to be these two, the Russians are a bust.  Yes, it is time for call and response, thought Wara, intent on reciting the code words intel had intercepted:

“Did you know breast milk goes for 4 dollars an ounce on the black market?”

The bait had been cast and Wara looked at the couple patiently.

Either these two had simultaneously stroked out, or they had completely forgotten the response.  Or… it was possible, they were merely vacationing Europeans, as heavy French confusion and disgust asked “Pardon, monsieur?”

Salvation came from another voice, feminine, one of their dinner mates in fact.  With light hand on Wara’s shoulder she interjected, turning him towards her stunning beauty:

“I think you’ll find bodybuilders do have a peculiar palate.”

Bingo.

18:30

(present time)

The Skybar opened to a warm and welcoming contrast to the wintery grounds of the outer compound.  Small blue lights, twinkled on the black paint of the wood clad ceiling, lending a soft ambiance to a barscape of scattered couches and cozy chic chairs.  All the decor was in black.  “This place would be charming if it didn’t harbor some of the most ruthless, cutthroat criminals on the globe” Wara burbled discretely to agent Blaine.  “…the heinous plans made in this very building…” Wara trailed off, noticing that agent Blaine was no longer at his side, but had tarried at the table beside the front door.

“Cookies!” he was exclaiming “and I think this is warm punch!” Was he bobbing up and down in his boots, and why were his hands inside his coat sleeves?

“Agent Blaine, focus” Wara admonished as he snatched a sugar cookie, and with crumbles escaping his lips added “Keep your eye to the grindstone”

“its nose on the ball silly” Blaine laughed and gave agent Wara a playful jab.

“I’ve got my nose on you.” Then finding his chain of command voice: “Let’s find this scum and foil their plans, co-ver-tly”

Blaine rolled his eyes. Then he perked up with his trademark excitement.

“The pretty lady said to find game players. Look!”

Over in the far corner by the bar, sat a couple of pensioners looking straight at them, sitting in front of a series of square cards.  Just as soon as eye contact was established, it was broken.  Though the bar was at near capacity, the seats around them were empty. 

“Go make friends” Wara instructed “I’ll fetch some libations.”

On draft was a pale lager native to Finland: Sandels.  This is the best Finnish crap beer, or at least on par with the leading competitor in its class, Karhu.  It is the only keg available, or it would have to be a bottle.  Of course, there is a full bar available here as well, but beer has always owned the market of fast and easy, and if Blaine decides to improv, any delay could prove costly. 

“What is upstairs?” Wara asked the barkeep.

“This is the Skybar.” She briefly paused the surveillance of the pour to find the eyes of her questioner “That is where you view the sky, and maybe see an Aurora on a night that is clear.”  Her meter is choppy and accent heavy. She has one hand firmly planted on the open tap and the other tilting the tall glassware below.

“Ohh, that’s the glass roof I saw from outside.” Wara said absently, watching his partner settle in right next to the mark. “I don’t suppose you can see the Northern lights while it is snowing?” he asked, turning back to the girl.

“Unfortunately, no.  Will that be cash or card?”

She may be short of answer, but there was a significant language barrier here, and she seemed quite pleasant.  Wara hoped she wouldn’t be cut down in crossfire if things went sideways.

18:37

An austere man sits before a field of blue and white speckled cards.  A middle-aged woman, poising as his wife, looks on from his left.  Neither smile.  Wara punched a confidential message into his phone: you can just feel the evil seeping off of them he thought as he composed “There is an old woman stealing flowers from a roadside grave marker.” He pressed the send arrow, then tucked his phone away. 

“Care to teach us the game?” asks Blaine with whimsicality.  Damn, when he was on, he was good.

“Sit and watch for a moment” was the joyless man’s reply “Do you have a good memory?” he followed up cryptically.

Of course, memory!  The game of matching picture cards!  Each card starts face down and a player turns one over, then another.  If a match is made, you continue.  Otherwise, the card flips face down again and it’s the other player’s turn.  Brilliant! and this isn’t any old children’s game either.  This was the coded message we’ve been sent here to intercept. 

The villain’s fingers absently shuffled some square cards in one hand on the tabletop, while surveying the field in play with brooding eyes.  Wara, keen on talking shop from occupational curiosity, tested the build of their legend- a spy’s fake background story.

“You two travelling together?” Wara asked the woman as she was finishing her mojito. 

“Aye, just come from London” she says with fake accent.

“You’re Australian I reckon, the name’s Barney” he lied holding out his hand.

“Good onya.  I’m Patty, and this is Oliver” jabbing her thumb in the direction of the man at the head of the coffee table before offering a limp hand to shake.  She wasn’t giving much away beyond her even keeled disposition.  One had the sense that she couldn’t care less if you talked with her for hours or got up and left forever.

“Oliver” flipped a card over, then another.  It was a match and he looked at Wara/Barney for the first time…

“Zebra” (pronounced zeh-bruh). He left his mouth open for a moment after identifying the match, while taking the pair and holding it up for agent Blaine to study. Setting them aside, he reveals a baby alpaca.  The closest thing we’ve seen to a smile relaxes into nothingness as he mismatches with a baby porcupine.

Patty rustles up to attention and brushes her bangs backward though they are determined to quickly return to their former position.  She has a Karen haircut.  She re-turns over the baby Alpaca and then a mouse. “Ah get stuffed!” she blurts, visibly irritated in the revelation of the blunder. The theme of the deck is baby animals.  Does that hold any significance?

Agent Blaine had seemingly lost himself to the game and rocked in his seat in anticipation as Oliver made another match: penguins.

The pair were altering the rules, making a match then passing it over to their partner.  What was the implication? Perhaps the first letter of each animal was forming some access pin?  This would indeed be a game of memory: zebra, then penguins, alpacas?

The general silence of the table spoke of serious engagement.  The gentle shuffle of cardboard under Olivers pressing thumb, the clinking rattle of Pattie’s melting ice cubes, the leather crunch of agent Blaine’s fidgeting; the soundtrack of this risky game of espionage.

Patty made a match and showed everyone with regal face.

“Wait, is that a chickadee or just a bird or what?” Wara had to know.  This information was of course crucial to the cipher.

“It’s a chick!” blurted Blaine, “your turn Oliver!”

Blaine was either really smart, or really stupid.  Funny how extremes tend to eventually converge if pushed far enough. 

Oliver flipped the alpaca over again and then a baby panda. “Bloody hell, where is the other alpaca!”

Then the inconceivable happened.

One of Blaine’s girlfriends was at the bar, mere steps away, and had spotted the duo before Wara could look away.  “Wara, hello again!” she said cheerfully on her approach, initiating a hug, and then sitting down across from Patty with a grin.

“Wara?” Patty asked laboriously, looking betrayed.

 “Zibeesh” Wara hissed under his breath.

Oliver looked alarmed as well, ceasing the shuffling motion with a smothering palm and measuring the pair with a severe craze in his eye.

The cover was dangerously fragile if not blown altogether.  Was Blaines hand slowly reaching for his Colt MK IV Series 80?  They had to take the info, partial as it was, and make a hasty retreat before these nefarious operatives had a chance to report back to their handlers.

“Short for Barney yeah, nice meeting everyone” Wara was standing back up and grabbing agent Blaine by the shoulder, hoping this wasn’t all barreling toward bloodshed.

16:15

(3 hours prior)

The tour through the ice hotel had been impressive.  The night air 26 kilometers north of the Arctic Circle was enduringly crisp, and now, sheltered from any wind within a tunnel of snow, the line for dinner was a bit of down time before the much anticipated food and drink . 

“Ummm, Uncle Wara, I’m bored” said 8-year-old Blaine, halfheartedly swinging his puff jacketed arms in engagement. 

“There is no such thing as bored, just boring people.”  Catching the restless hands and anchoring the child’s weight which immediately tugged away, he looked down and stated: “Boredom is the path to creativity, boy.”

“I don’t know what that means” he said flatly, stamping up straight, then pulling on his uncle’s arm to hop around and repeat in his baby voice “I’m booooorrred.”

“That’s your choice” Wara said with a chuckle “Your imagination is about as soft as a two-year-old cough drop”

 The Queue formed in front of the ice restaurant, deep inside the snowy attraction.  We, the smiling mass of tourists, stood in ski gear waiting. Many reviewed their camera rolls, and some attended to their children as the staff readied our dinner reservations.

It had been a couple minutes of peace before Wara felt a tug on his jacket that brought his attention back to his nephew who had something to say.   At least he was motioning him to come closer while saying something inaudible.

He obliged, and bent down eye to eye with Blaine, whose smile faded as he began whispering, his eyes growing larger, and his demeanor evolving into seriousness: “Listen, uncle Wara, we’re both spies ok? On a top-secret mission to infiltrate the bad guy’s base. But they have lots of hidden guns, so we have to blend in…and…and…and…”