by Fritz Galt
Clearly embarrassed, Natalie played with her fork. Mick was at a loss for words.
Then a seven-foot Santa Claus bumbled into the room, a fixed wax smile on his face.
It took a moment to realize that he was bumping into tables and waving at blank walls.
The guests began to giggle.
A waiter took Santa by the hand and tried to guide him around the room, helping him hand each table a present.
Natalie buried her head in her napkin, her shoulders shaking.
Mick leaned toward her and lifted her chin to console her. Her light blue eyes were wet with tears. Then he noticed her hopeless smile. They were tears of laughter.
He finally let a grin spread across his face. He leaned his head against hers, and they dissolved into convulsions of laughter.
Santa passed their table, leaving a gift that looked something like a wrapped mango.
Then there were cheers and good-byes.
Mick and Natalie straightened up to look. Santa backed over several tables as he tried to turn and wave.
Then the waiter pulled him through the kitchen door.
Barefoot, Mick carried his shoes in one hand and held Natalie’s waist with his other as they staggered down the dark, sandy path.
They barely fit two abreast, but he rather enjoyed the caress of the broad tropical leaves.
He felt his wife reach up and fondle the end of his short ponytail.
“Mick?” she said. His name sounded fresh and new when she said it.
“Yes?”
“What do you think about Kashmir?” she asked lightly.
They strolled side by side for a moment. He enjoyed the cool sand between his toes.
“What do you mean: Do I like it? How would I describe it? What do I think of the new peace agreement up there?”
“All those questions.”
He suddenly wondered why she was asking. Kashmir was worlds away from their flat, tropical atoll. “Why do you ask?”
A monkey shrieked from a tree overhead.
She stopped walking and looked Mick in the eye. “The hidden agenda behind all the State Department’s shenanigans was to install me as U.S. Ambassador to Kashmir.”
He couldn’t find any words to reply.
“The State Department called it their ‘New Initiative,’ to appease India, free Kashmir and recognize it as a separate country. I made myself the conduit of information and secrets to India. I had to show involvement, good will and a high profile. Otherwise, India would not have trusted in their new relationship with America and trusted me personally to be the American ambassador to Kashmir.”
“Good evening, Madam Ambassador. It has a nice ring to it.”
She nodded, her eyes sparkling and mischievous. Holy cow, his wife as ambassador. Why not?
He smiled and dragged her along beside him. “Sure. Kashmir is a heck of a place. I’d move there tomorrow.”
“I’d only go with you, of course,” she said.
Boy, she knew how to hook ’em. She would make one hell of an ambassador.
Their feet squeaked on the sandy path, and land crabs scattered away under fallen leaves.
Suddenly, something seemed wrong. As they neared the hut, Mick was hearing sounds he had never heard before. The gas generator that supplied the power to Mariah’s ventilator was no longer running. She was unplugged.
“The generator’s off,” he said, his heart suddenly thumping against his chest wall.
Natalie’s eyes mirrored his concern.
They dashed across the lawn and squeezed through the hut’s open doorway.
Barely awake, Rajiv and Simon sat heaped in chairs on opposite sides of Mariah. They wore Santa caps and each held a highball. The Christmas tree, decorated and pretty, was sandbagged by numerous new presents.
Mick dropped his sandals on the wooden floor.
Mariah was sitting up in bed and looking toward him, her eyes vacant, her breathing tube having been pulled from her mouth.
He guided Natalie over to their daughter’s bed.
“You’re back, little pea,” Natalie whispered through a choking sob.
Mariah yawned, stretched her arms and fingered her hair. She seemed surprised by its length.
Then her vision adjusted as if focusing after a long sleep. Mick had forgotten how beautiful and blue her eyes were. She turned to her parents, acknowledged them with a grownup nod and then cracked a sneaky smile.
“Mewwy Cwistmas, Mommy and Daddy,” she said.
About the Author
Fritz Galt
Fritz Galt is an American novelist with over thirty years of experience in the diplomatic community. He has lived abroad in Cuba, Switzerland, Yugoslavia, Taiwan, India, China, Belgium and Mongolia. He lives with his family in Washington, DC. If you enjoyed his Mick Pierce Spy Thrillers, then you might enjoy his Brad West Spy Thrillers and his other International Mysteries and International Thrillers. For an in-depth look at all his work, visit Fritz Galt’s Amazon Author Page.
Also by Fritz Galt
Mick Pierce Spy Thrillers
Double Cross
Thunder in Formosa
Geneva Seduction
Fatal Sting
Brad West Spy Thrillers
Destiny of the Dragon
Mind Control
The Shangri-la Code
International Thrillers
The Trap
China Gate
The Accidental Assassin
Patient Zero
Comoros Moon (short stories)
International Crime Thrillers
The Maltese Cross
The Canton Connection
Chasing the Tiger
Other Novels
Summerville
Lost Cutlass
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