The night was cold and silent just a few miles off the east coast of the United States. The stars twinkled through the crystal-clear sky, unobstructed by clouds or other lights. It looked like a perfect night, a night just like any other, but tonight was far from ordinary. It was Christmas Eve, the busiest night of the year for one particularly rotund good Samaritan dressed in the most conspicuous outfit imaginable. His ensemble was one of the most iconic things about him, second only to his legendary, long, white beard. At least, that’s how the story went.

In reality, Santa Clause XLVI, or Santa 46 for anyone not familiar with Roman numerals, was not as round or as jolly as one might think, at least, not these days. His tall, athletic build fit behind the reins of the sleigh he piloted much better than his father’s pudgy body had. He was indeed clothed in bright red coat and pants, a style brought back by the old man. His grandfather, Santa XLIV, had utilized a dark, camouflage-patterned jump suit when traipsing around the globe, but the proliferation of Santa impersonators had ironically made the iconic red eye-soar of an outfit the best disguise of all for someone who really was the legendary toy maker. Or the descendant of him at least.

Santa XLVI shifted the sleigh reins to his left hand and reached for the lidded travel mug nestled in the cup holder in the dash. Based on the wisps of steam rising from the tiny drinking slit, the average observer might assume it contained hot chocolate. In fact, this was Santa’s favorite drink for a night in, sitting in a chair in front of the fire, looking over the latest invention concocted by Gene, the elf in charge of research and development. Blueprints like the one now nestled in Santa’s coat pockets. But on tonight of all nights, he needed the burst of caffeine only coffee could provide.

After a few sips and a minute or two relishing the warmth coming from the mug, he slipped it back into the cupholder. This year, Gene had specially outfitted the mug’s slot with an inductive heater designed to keep the coffee warm for the many long hours it took to deliver all the toys. Now nearing the end of the journey, it appeared to have worked admirably, not only keeping the coffee hot but also periodically refilling it. Santa couldn’t figure out how that latter part worked. Probably magic. Gene was an elf after all.

Suddenly, the radio crackled to life.

“Unidentified aircraft, you are impinging on air space sovereign to the United States of America. Please identify yourself.”

As Santa scrambled for the radio, his grip on the reins loosened, and the sleigh listed to the left. Frantically, he took the reins in both hands, struggling to bring his reindeer and the rest of the vehicle level. The solitary sack of toys in the back slid across the bed, coming to a sudden stop against the side of the sleigh. Almost imperceptibly, it teetered as gravity tried to lever it over the wood barrier where it would fall into the ocean. At the last moment, the sleigh righted, and the bag settled back, toppling toward the center of the bed. Crisis averted.

“Unidentified aircraft, fighters have been scrambled and are approaching your location. Identify yourself.”

Santa grabbed the hand mic from the radio and keyed it.

“This is Fat Boy,” he called into the microphone, trying to keep his voice calm. “Tail number X-ray Mike Alpha Sierra. My flight plan should be on file.”

“Negative on that, Fat Boy,” the radio replied. “We had you coming through this way about an hour ago. Nothing in here about a return trip.”

“Yes, I was here an hour ago, but things went wrong, and I had to come back through,” Santa explained into the microphone. “There should be a second set of paperwork for my flight clearance.”

“I’m afraid the second clearance never showed up,” the radio crackled. “We’ll need to divert you to the nearest Air Force Base while we sort this out.”

“Fine,” Santa sighed, hopes of his last toy run of the night ending soon slipping quickly from sight. “How do I get there?”

“Your escort jets should be arriving at your position any second now,” the radio answered. “Follow their directions.”

“Copy,” Santa replied.

He didn’t notice the pair of F-22 jets until they were practically on top of him, flanking the sleigh on either side. The darkness of night made them nearly imperceptible to the eye and they appeared only as deep shadows, swallowing all light in a jet shaped patch.

“Fat Boy, this is Ghost Rider,” the radio came to life once more.

“Dude, enough is enough,” another voice, clearly the other pilot, came over the radio. “You’ve been trying for a month now to change your call-sign, but it’s not going to work. Over.”

“I’m not trying to change anything. Over.” the first voice argued.

“Dumpy, just learn to embrace the call-sign with dignity. Fat Boy owns his, and it’s not the most complimentary. Over.”

“It’s actually more of a heritage thing,” Santa explained. “It was my dad’s, so I kept it when I took over for him.”

“Well, Fat Boy,” the second voice said, “I’m Clutch, and my wingman is Dumpy and we’ll be escorting you today. Over.”

“Fantastic,” Santa muttered to himself, careful to make sure his microphone wasn’t on. Spinning the dial, he queued up the frequency for his mission control back at the North Pole.

“Fat Boy to Squeaky, Fat Boy to Squeaky. Do you read me?”

“I read you loud and clear, Fat Boy,” the response came a few moments later. “What can I do for you?”

“I need to speak to Shirley.”

There was a minute of silence before the high but somewhat gravelly voice of the mission control supervisor came over from the speaker.

“Shirley speaking, do you copy, Santa?”

“Over the radio it’s Fat Boy,” Santa sighed.

“You know I’ve always found that to be disrespectful, sir,” Shirley replied. This was an argument the two of them had had many times before, and this would likely not be the last time.

“It doesn’t matter,” Santa said. “We have bigger issues. Did you file the forms for my second country clearance in the US?”

“I certainly did, sir,” Shirley replied. “At least…”

“At least what?”

“I had Joe working on it,” Shirley said.

“The same Joe I’m thinking of right now?” Santa asked.

“If you’re thinking of your mother’s sister’s son’s wife’s…”

“Good ol’ cousin Joe,” Santa abbreviated the relationship. “You know he never finishes anything.”

“I know, but I’ve been mentoring him, and I wanted to give him another chance,” Shirley explained.

“The most important day of our year is not the time for mentoring!” Santa exclaimed. He sighed. “I’m sorry, Shirley, that was uncalled for. What’s done is done. What I need you to do now is call your contacts and fill them in on the situation. See what they can do to get me out of this mess.”

“I’ll get right on it, sir,” Shirley said, and Santa could see her in his mind’s eye, saluting the radio back at mission control. He shook his head as he flipped his radio back to its original frequency. She was good at her job and would get him out of this, but sometimes he wished she were as good at avoiding problems as fixing them.

The flight to the Air Force installation was short and uneventful. Just a few miles after leaving the Atlantic Ocean behind, the lights of a runway presented themselves.

“Just put her down nice and easy,” Clutch said. “Security Forces will meet you on the ground, so don’t freak out. They probably won’t shoot at you!”

With a laugh, he signed out, and the two jets pulled up, disappearing into the dark sky and leaving Santa alone. For a moment he considered making a run for it instead of landing, but the thought was dismissed before it had fully formed. The jets were much faster than his reindeer and would shoot him down without hesitation at such a show of insolence. Besides, he had nothing to hide. This was all just a big misunderstanding waiting to be sorted out.

With a twitch of the reigns, he put the sleigh into a shallow descent, aiming for the runway. The reindeer chafed at the unexpected direction, and it took Santa a moment to notice he wasn’t dropping as quickly as he should have been. He felt an instant of sheer panic and twisted on the reigns harder. To his relief, the sleigh dropped into a steep dive, aiming for the end of the runway. He reached out a hand to steady the sack of toys behind him as he plummeted through the choppy air.

The ground rushed up to meet the sleigh, and Santa pulled up at the last moment, leveling out the vehicle to skim along just inches above the pavement. Just another hundred feet and he would have the runners down safely on the ground and then it would be a simple matter to turn around and head back toward the air traffic control tower until he was met by Security Forces.

The runners were arrested midflight, catching on something below and slowing the sleigh considerably. For a split second it seemed it was moving through molasses, and Santa had a brief thought that he might be able to land. Then, the reindeer freaked out, jerking at their harness and pulling this way and that until, with a loud crack, they broke away from the sleigh and dashed off into the night sky.

At the sudden lack of forward propulsion, the sleigh snapped backwards, slamming to the ground and tipping over to one side. Santa tumbled heavily from his seat, rolling to get clear of the heavy mass of antique wood behind him. When he looked up, the blue lights were rushing toward him, so he sat up but did not stand. It would be easier this way.

******

Santa XLVI straddled his metal chair backwards and looked at his reflection in the two-way mirror. His left eye was puffy and swollen, and there was a raw stretch of road rash on the side of his face. His unbuttoned jacket revealed a brown patch on his white undershirt where his coffee cup had deposited its contents. A stain the color of fresh soot covered one side of his coat and was interspersed with ragged holes ripped by the runway pavement. All-in-all, he looked worse than he actually felt, and it would not be a problem to finish the toy deliveries tonight. If he ever got out of this holding room.

A door slammed, and Santa could suddenly hear what sounded like muffled shouting in the hall outside the room. He turned around in his chair to face the door. Maybe this had to do with him and he would get out of here soon. Not that he would hold his breath for a miracle.

The shouting grew louder until it was right outside his room. The door opened with a crash and a woman wearing camouflage entered, cellphone pressed to her ear. A spice-brown eagle decorated the front of her uniform in the middle of the chest, identifying her as a Colonel. Santa tried to read her name, but it, also spice brown in color, blended in with the pattern of the uniform, and all he could make out was the first letter, a D.

“I don’t care what the Lieutenant says!” the colonel stormed. “You tell him this is direct from me!”

There was a pause while the person on the other end of the phone spoke.

“You don’t worry about that,” the Colonel responded. “I’ll take care of it.”

She hung up the phone and tucked it into her pocket. Then she extended a hand.

“Hello, Santa,” she said. “I’m Colonel Decker, the commander of this installation. I’ve been talking with your people.”

“Pleased to meet you, Colonel,” Santa took the proffered hand and shook it. “I wish it could be under better circumstances.”

“Oh, this isn’t the first time we’ve met,” Colonel Decker replied, sitting in the chair opposite Santa. “When I was eight, I caught you sneaking into the house. We chatted for a few minutes before you sent me to bed. Though I must confess, you looked a lot fatter and older back then.”

“This is only my seventh year in the seat,” Santa said. “You must have had the pleasure of meeting my father.”

“I guess so.” Colonel Decker folded her hands and changed the subject. “I’ve personally looked into your story and it checks out.”

“Thank you, ma’am,” Santa interrupted. “I appreciate the effort, but I was wondering if I could speak to my people.”

“Of course.” Colonel Decker retrieved the phone from her pocket, dialed a number, and handed the device to Santa. “I’ve been instructed to cooperate with you to the greatest extent feasible.”

“Thank you,” Santa replied. The phone rang twice before it was answered.

“North Pole operations center, this is Shirley.”

“Shirley, this is Santa,” Santa said, and was interrupted before he could continue.

“Santa! It’s so good to hear from you!” Shirley exclaimed. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” Santa replied, absently dabbing at his raw cheek. “A few bumps and bruises, but nothing some antiseptic and a hot bath won’t fix. What I need right now is…”

“We’re already working on a way for you to complete your route,” Shirley addressed the issue before he could raise it. “Initial reports are that your sleigh is banged up pretty good, maybe bad enough to keep it out of the air. In any case, it doesn’t matter with your reindeer gone.”

“Yes, about that,” Santa said. “Have you been able to figure out where they are right now?”

“Yes sir,” Shirley answered. “Gene lowjacked their harnesses, and not a year too soon, it appears. It looks like Rudolph is leading them back here. They’re fast, but without you driving them, they’re taking their time. It’ll be a couple hours before they arrive.”

“So then, what about this plan to help me finish the route?” Santa asked.

“The US Air Force has volunteered to get you as far as the airport in Baltimore. From there, you’ll take commercial air to Dallas and I’ve arranged ground transport from Dallas to the final neighborhood. I am working on arranging pick-up for you from there.”

“Good work,” Santa congratulated her. “So, the ticket to Dallas…”

“Will be at the counter when you check in,” Shirley answered. “You do have your passport with you, don’t you?”

“I do,” Santa assured her. “And what about the sleigh?”

“The Air Force has also agreed to have some of their people fix it up enough for us to get it off the ground,” Shirley said. “I’m arranging for the reindeer to be brought back down there to pick up the sleigh when it is repaired.”

“Sounds good,” Santa said. “You’re a professional, Shirley, and I’m glad you’re working for me. Remind me to give you a raise when I get back.”

Santa could practically feel her cheeks burning with the compliment as she stammered out a few words and quickly hung up. He handed the phone back to Colonel Decker.

“Well, ma’am, it looks like I need to thank you again,” Santa said. “Shirley tells me you’ll be fixing up my sleigh good enough to get it back home.”

“I’m putting my best people on it,” Colonel Decker affirmed. “I can assure you it will be in the best hands possible.”

“I thank you for that,” Santa said. “Shirley also mentioned that you would be getting me to Baltimore.”

“That’s right,” Colonel Decker smiled. “As such, I have just one question: Have you ever ridden in the back of a C-130?”

******

Of course, Santa had never been in the back of a C-130 before, an answer he could not give in the future. He now found himself seated in the last seat on the right-hand wall of the aircraft, facing toward the center of the cabin. The term seated was definitely a stretch since this plane’s version of seats consisted of a cargo net hammock for his butt. A single belt crossed his waist, fastening him to the seat so tightly he could barely move.

“We wouldn’t want Santa tumbling all around the back of this thing when we take off,” the load master declared with a smile as he cinched the safety device tight. “I guess the Air Force does it all now, huh?!”

Santa grimaced as the airman walked away laughing. His sleigh breaking down was nothing to be ashamed of, it happened to everyone now and again, but getting a ride from the Air Force was something he would never live down. He looked down the rows of seats filling the front part of the cabin and counted at least fifty men and women in uniform, all strapped into the same uncomfortable seating he was utilizing. In addition, the whole complement had weapons, slung across the chests of some and sitting in the netting next to others. These combined with the large packs each one had showed these people were not heading out to a Christmas party.

Santa had expected them to all be looking at him, but only a few were casting sidelong glances at him from time to time while the rest chatted with each other, stared into their phones, or slept. Evidently this was not the first time they had seen a man in a baggy red suit hitch a ride in the back of an Air Force plane. Or perhaps this just was not the craziest thing to happen to them. Probably not even the craziest thing today.

The only one staring at him, Santa noticed suddenly, was a dog seated on the floor about ten feet to his right. It was black and tan and would be mistaken for a German Shepherd by most people, but Santa’s mother had taught him better. This military working dog was a Belgian Malinois, and it looked like he had been seen a lot in his life. Less of it now, since he was missing an eye, the lids sewed shut. Not that he seemed to notice much as he sat there, panting away and staring at Santa.

“Hey there, puppy,” Santa said in a low voice. He made clicking sounds with his mouth and even motioned with his hand, all surreptitiously, of course. The dog’s handler might look like she was asleep, but she might very well just be listening to the music pumping through earbuds with her eyes closed. The dog never moved from its spot but stared in Santa’s direction. The dog’s panting made it look like he was smiling, his face frozen in a perpetual wink. Santa smiled back and thought that maybe this once he could use his Christmas magic to bring this pooch a special gift. Maybe next year when he had more time.

Over the next fifteen minutes, the C-130 prepared for takeoff. The engines started, bringing the sound level inside the cabin to thunderously loud levels. The flight crew gave some sort of safety demonstration, but not even the plane’s intercom could compete with the sound of the engines. The load master made a final trip amongst the passengers, checking the straps of each to make sure they were buckled and putting hands on Santa’s to ensure it was securely tightened. The plane started to taxi out toward the runway, a fact Santa was able to deduce by the apparent motion his brain told him was occurring and by the fact that he could see the pavement through the still open cargo ramp. Almost as an afterthought, the crew raised the ramp as the airplane finished taxiing to its position.

“Alright, folks, we’re preparing for takeoff,” the pilot’s voice somehow cut across the sound of the engines. “Santa, hang onto your butt. This could get a little crazy!”

The laughter following this statement informed Santa that he should be at least mildly insulted, but instead he was thankful for the warning. Clutching his harness, he shifted his eyes to look straight ahead where a pallet stacked high with boxes cinched down securely with a massive cargo net filled his view. He shifted his eyes across the cargo to his bag of toys situated at the very back of the plane. It looked pathetically small, fastened down with straps crushing it into a flat pancake on the pallet of which it was the sole occupant. Santa had only a moment to hope the magic of the bag protected the presents inside before his whole world was irreversibly changed.

******

 “How was the flight?” the load master asked as he unbuckled Santa’s restraints. “You look a little green!”

“I’ve been better,” Santa confessed slowly. “Why do I get the idea we did barrel roles and spun more than was strictly necessary?”

“No barrel rolls!” the load master laughed and helped Santa to his feet. “A combat takeoff and a lot of banking, though. It’s a rite of passage for any first-time fliers.”

“What if I had told the Colonel I had been in a C-130 before?” Santa asked.

“Follow me,” the load master laughed and headed for the back of the plane.

Santa grabbed his hat in one hand and a small paper bag in the other and followed the airman. The cargo ramp was once again lowered, and the pilot stood there to see off his departing passenger.

“How was the flight, Santa?” the pilot asked, a huge grin on his face. “Your sleigh can’t pull moves like that, can it?”

“It could, but animal rights activists probably wouldn’t approve of what I would need to do to my reindeer to get them to do that,” Santa replied sarcastically. The pilot laughed.

“Well, I hope you had a good flight and if there’s anything else I can do for you…”

“Actually, there is,” Santa said, eyeing his large sack of presents now freed from its bindings. He put his hat on his head and handed his paper sack to the pilot. “I’ll need both hands to get my stuff, so if you can hold onto this for me. Maybe don’t hold onto it too long since I imagine it’ll start to smell.”

Santa hoisted his toy bag onto his back, gave a wave of his hand, and headed down the cargo ramp to where the tarmac greeted him with the welcome sight of cold, hard pavement. A few dozen feet away, an airport employee met him.

“Right this way, Santa,” she told him with a curious examination of his red suit. As she led him off the tarmac and into the undercity of the airport, she continued to cast him glances. It was clear she wanted to ask a question, one which she had no doubt been instructed in one way or another to not ask.

“What is it?” Santa asked when he couldn’t stand it any longer. He stopped in the middle of the hallway they were traversing, forcing her to halt and turn to look at him.

“What is what?” she asked, acting as oblivious as possible.

“I know you want to say something,” Santa persisted. “No doubt it has to do with my funny red suit, or my sack of toys, or why you didn’t get that present you asked for when you were ten. You won’t ask me anything I haven’t heard before, so out with it.”

“Well,” the airport employee said hesitantly, looking up and down the hallway before continuing. “Are you really Santa?”

“Yes,” Santa answered.

“Will I have presents under my tree from you when I wake up tomorrow?” she continued.

“Well, that depends, Kimberly,” Santa replied with a glance at her nametag. “Have you been good this year?”

“I try to be,” Kimberly said. “God knows I’m not perfect, but…”

“Sorry to interrupt, but I am on a bit of a tight schedule,” Santa cut in. “The big question, then, is whether or not you believe.”

“How could I not believe in you?” Kimberly asked, “I’m looking right at you, aren’t I?”

“That’s not what I mean,” Santa said. “You can see me, sure, but do you believe?”

“I’m not sure I understand what you’re asking,” Kimberly said.

“Well, think about it,” Santa said, starting once again down the hallway. “When you figure it out, you’ll have your answer. Now if you don’t mind, I need to get to the ticket counter. It’s Christmas Eve and I’m in a bit of a rush.”

“Yes, which, come to think of it, is a bit odd, isn’t it?” Kimberly asked as she took the lead and ushered Santa through a set of double doors. “Shouldn’t you be out on your sleigh delivering presents? What are you doing trying to catch a flight?”

“I really don’t want to talk about it right now,” Santa sighed. “Suffice it to say that there’s a reason I showed up in the back of a military airplane.”

It took only a handful more minutes to reach the ticket counter for Southwest Airlines. Kimberly escorted him to the front of the line before bidding him farewell. The process for picking up his tickets was unexpectedly simple. He gave the man behind the counter his name, showed his passport, checked in his bag of presents, received his tickets, and was off to security.

Santa had been feeling good, optimistic even, about this flight until he saw the massive line of people snaking its way through the TSA checkpoint. He looked at the flight time on his tickets and then at the digital clock showing on a TV monitor hanging from the ceiling. Before, he had thought he might have time to get to his gate early, perhaps even get a bite to eat on the other side of security. Those dreams evaporated in an instant, and he knew this would be tight.

“Are you carrying anything given to you by a stranger?” the TSA agent behind the first desk asked as he examined Santa’s ticket and looked him up and down.”

“No, I am not,” Santa replied immediately. He had a horrifying thought and asked, “Why, should I be?”

“Not if you want to catch your flight on time,” the man said without so much as a smile. He wrote a few scribbles with a pen on Santa’s ticket and handed it back to him. Santa took the tickets and moved forward in the line.

“Make sure all your liquids are in a clear plastic, quart sized bag.”

“No liquids more than 3.4 ounces.”

The TSA personnel walked back and forth, up and down past the ranks of passengers, calling out the instructions, ostensibly to make the security checkpoint process people faster. That particular outcome didn’t appear to be working, but Santa realized he had never been through a security line without the instructions.

“Remove any rings, watches, belts, or other metal items before entering the scanners.”

The line wound slowly in a meandering, serpentine pattern through the freestanding modular line markers common to this type of employment. Santa had the sudden impression he was an animal being herded through some sort of cattle funnel in a slaughterhouse. He had to suppress the unexpected urge to moo, figuring it was less than wise to draw any more attention to himself at the moment than was strictly necessary.

“Make sure all your items are placed in the X-ray machine before walking through the scanner.”

Santa removed his boots and belt and placed them along with his hat and coat on the X-ray machine. Holding up his pants with one hand, he entered the full body scanner.

“Stand still and raise your hands above your head,” were the instructions provided to him by the woman standing on the far side.

Santa raised his left hand above his head and did his best with his right while still keeping a hold of his pants.

“Sir, you need to raise both hands above your head,” the woman reiterated. Santa looked down at his pants and was faced with a decision. The TSA worker seemed quite adamant that he raise both hands, but his pants would not stay up if he did so. He must have looked puzzled for too long, because the woman was speaking again, a bit testily this time.

“It’s not rocket science, is it Santa?” she asked. “I just need you to raise both hands above your head.”

“I’m just trying to figure out how to do that without my pants falling down,” Santa said, meeting her eyes. The look there informed him she wasn’t looking for conversation on the topic, but he didn’t know what else to do, so he continued. “They’re a bit baggy, as you can see, and you had me take off my belt before I entered the scanner.”

“Sir, every single person before you has managed to make it work,” the machine operator countered. “Now I need you to raise both hands above your head while we scan you.”

In a last ditch effort to save some of his dignity but also halt the rapid deterioration of his standing with this TSA official, Santa bowed his knees out to the sides as far as possible and threw his right hand above his head along with his left. He did not dare look down, but he could feel his pants sliding down until they bunched up enough to halt their downward progress, exposing the underwear halfway down his butt. Thank God for the kid who had the sense to leave him boxer shorts instead of milk and cookies two years ago. Before that, this scene would have played out with his whitie tighties being brandished before hundreds of people. As it was, pictures of candy canes were all they had the pleasure of seeing. The TSA official indicated the scan was finished, so Santa quickly hiked his pants up and hurriedly stepped out of the machine.

“Do I get a clean bill of health?” he joked. The look from the TSA agent told him that she was not amused, so he stepped past her to the other end of the X-ray machine where his belongings were spilling across the sluggishly moving conveyor. His belt was the first thing he grabbed, threading it through the loops on his pants and buckling it. The task complete, he sighed and took a moment to enjoy the feeling of his trousers not constantly trying to make a break for the floor. A glance at the clock told him he had enough time to replace his boots, so he grabbed them, his hat, and his coat, and looked for a nearby bench. There were none of course, but he spotted one over near the wall. He had not taken a step before he heard the voice.

“Sir, we need to have a word with you.”

The words did not even register with Santa. He had nothing to hide, had nothing suspicious on him, so why would airport security be interested in him. He headed for the bench.

“Sir in the red trousers,” the voice called out again. Then, in exasperation, “Santa!”

Santa turned about in surprise.

“Yes?” he said. The TSA agent coming toward him was somewhat overweight and huffed with the exertion of moving so quickly.

“Sir, I need you to come with me,” the TSA official said. “We need to have a few words with you.”

“Alright, but could I put my boots on first,” Santa asked him. “I…”

“Now, sir,” the man reiterated.

With just a moment of hesitation and a sinking feeling, Santa nodded and followed the TSA agent through a door and into the bowels of the airport security offices. It was sparser than Santa had imagined, a few offices or cubicles here and there, a few closed doors with signage indicating he was not allowed inside, and finally they arrived at their destination. This wasn’t the first time tonight Santa had been in a room like this, and now he knew what it was: an interrogation room.

“I’ll cooperate as much as I need to, but could we hurry this up,” he asked the man who had escorted him here. “I’m cutting things a bit close as it is, and I really need to catch my flight.”

“I’ll need to take your coat and hat,” the man said, holding out his hand for the items.

“Certainly,” Santa said agreeably and handed over the clothing. “But is there any way we can do this quickly?”

“It’ll take as long as it needs to,” the TSA official said before shutting the door in Santa’s face.

“So close,” Santa commented. He took a seat in one of the chairs, stretched out his legs and crossed them at the ankles. So close and yet still 1200 miles away from his last stop.

******

The door to the room opened and a man in his late forties entered. He wore the same uniform as every other TSA employee, but he seemed different somehow, set apart a little, perhaps a bit more in control. The apelets on his shoulder seemed to indicate that he was of fairly high rank, or maybe not. Santa had no unique knowledge of the TSA rank structure. The man took a seat opposite Santa, clearly waiting.

“So, who are you, then?” Santa broke the silence. He had a timetable, no matter how delayed, to keep, and posturing over who would speak first would be counterproductive to that end.

“You can call me Mark,” the man replied evenly, his face an inscrutable mask. “I was wondering if you could answer a few of my questions.”

“Well, seeing as though I’ve missed my flight already, I’ll answer whatever you want me to,” Santa replied. “I’m assuming that’s the fastest way for me to get out of here and onto another flight.”

“Cooperation would be best for you at this point,” Mark agreed.

“Well then, let’s get to the questions,” Santa said.

“First you could tell me who you are and why you’re flying to Texas,” Mark said. He pulled a pad of paper from a pocket and tossed it on the table between him and Santa.

“Well, as you may have guessed, I am Santa and I’m on my way to Texas to finish my last delivery of the night,” Santa replied.

“Santa Clause?” Mark asked.

“That’s the one,” Santa agreed.

“Then why does this say your name is Craig?” Mark asked, holding up a booklet Santa recognized as his passport.

“Because my given name is Craig, Santa explained. “I was never supposed to take over for my dear old dad, but my oldest brother was, shall we say, the opposite of a chip off the old block.”

“What the heck does that mean?” Mark asked insincerely.

“It means his nose isn’t always red just because of the cold weather at the North Pole, if you know what I mean,” Santa said. “That’s just not behavior kids should be emulating, so he got booted from succession and I took his place. Also, he couldn’t keep a schedule to save his life.”

“Hmm,” Mark muttered as if trying to decide whether to believe the story or not. “Your passport also says you’re Canadian.”

“Of course,” Santa agreed. “The whole Clause clan is Canadian.”

“So there’s no nefarious ulterior motive for your trip?” Mark asked skeptically. “No secret mission for one organization or another which you might want to hide from the United States government?”

“I’m not sure what you’re getting at, Mark,” Santa confessed, now thoroughly confused. “I’m just going to deliver some toys.”

“Then explain to me why you had these!”

Mark rose from his seat and triumphantly slapped down a set of drawings on the table as though providing the last piece of evidence to bust a case wide open. Santa looked at the drawings, the blueprints he had stashed in his coat before starting his delivery route, and suddenly understood. The missile shaped devices pictured could definitely be misconstrued in the proper setting, and apparently this was that setting.

“I can understand why you might be a bit confused by what you’re seeing here, but I assure you, there is a perfectly good and innocent explanation for these designs,” Santa said.

“I’m sure there is,” Mark rolled his eyes. “So you’re telling me that I’m not looking at an advanced intercontinental ballistic weapons system?”

“Of course not,” Santa insisted.

“Then pray tell, what exactly am I looking at?” Mark scoffed.

“A Global Gift Automated Delivery System, or GGADS for short,” Santa explained. “It’s designed to pre-stage my presents for good girls and boys across the globe so my reindeer don’t have to carry so much weight. It should speed up the delivery process significantly.”

“Speed it up?!” Mark asked in a surprised yet cynical tone. “Aren’t you the one who delivers presents to every child in the whole world in just one night? Why would you need to speed up delivery?”

“Just because we’re good doesn’t mean there isn’t room for improvement,” Santa said. “Besides, with the population continuing to rise, I’m already starting to feel the strain of making it to every house in one night.”

Mark stared at Santa for a few moments, clearly stumped. Finally, he looked down at the blueprints once more.

“It sure looks like an ICBM to me,” he said.

“Well, it’s not,” Santa assured him. He stood up and reached across the papers to point at part of the drawing. “Look here, this indicates the GGADS doesn’t shoot from one continent to the next. It’s supposed to enter space before deploying its payload.”

“That’s the same method some of the longer-range missiles use these days,” Mark said.

“And when the payload deploys, it floats down via a deployed parachute,” Santa pointed to another part of the drawing.

“Just like cluster bombs or mines,” Mark countered.

“But this isn’t a bunch of small bombs floating down,” Santa argued. “This is just a couple of big pallets.”

“Think of how many explosives you could pack into a bomb that size,” Mark said.

“I don’t know what to tell you, then,” Santa sat down exasperated.

“Here’s how I see it, Craig,” Mark sat down opposite Santa. He had a look of smug satisfaction on his face. “Best case scenario, this missile isn’t a missile and it does what you say it does. Then all you’re guilty of is bypassing customs and imports with your goods. And lest my sarcasm confuse you, let me be blunt. Mucking around with illegal imports is enough to land you with a significant amount of jail time on its own.”

“Look,” Santa tried to explain with as little frustration as possible. “I am not trying to import goods illegally into any country. Everything I do has been vetted at the highest level.”

“You’ve run this by the president?” Mark asked incredulously.

“Of course not, at least, not directly,” Santa replied. “There are far too many countries in the world to meet each of the leaders individually, especially not when they switch out every couple of years. But I have had my methods approved by your department of commerce. This new delivery system will be no different.”

“I guess we’ll find out whether you’re as well connected as you claim,” Mark said. He crossed his arms in what he no doubt thought was a position of authority, but it came across more as the action of a pouting child. “I’ve put you in for a background check and the results should be back soon.”

“Well, why didn’t you lead with that tidbit of information?!” Santa threw up his arms in exasperation. “If all I have to do is wait, I can do that! I just hope it’s soon enough for me to get on another flight and finish my deliveries tonight.”

******

 The door banged open, and Santa snapped awake, jerking his head from where it rested on his arms. Blinking his eyes at the light which suddenly assaulted them, he was eventually able to make out the shape of Mark standing in the entrance to the room, arms folded over his chest.

“You’re free to go,” he said. His tone carried no emotion, but the look on his face was not happy.

“I know,” Santa retorted. He snatched his coat, hat, and the rest of his luggage from a sterile looking metal table just outside the room. He had nothing nice to say and knew he should follow his mother’s advice, but he just could not help himself.

“Maybe next time you feel like auditioning for the part of a hard-boiled detective on a syndicated police procedural, make sure you have a real bad guy,” Santa advised.

“Pretty harsh for Santa, don’t you think?” Mark asked, face stoic as ever. “I’d think you’d feel sorry for those words if you were the jolly old elf. I’ve got half a mind to detain you for impersonation.”

“Santa is not, nor has he ever been, an elf!” Santa growled. “The whole clan has always been human. Though I wouldn’t expect you to be able to tell the difference! As to being sorry, the only thing I regret is that I already visited your house tonight and don’t have time to go reclaim your present!”

Santa spun on his heel and stalked off in a huff. With his thin frame and baggy clothing, he looked especially like a red praying mantis carrying a sack. He had also been lying when he told Mark he did not regret his words. He had hated them even as they were coming out of his mouth, but he could not seem to stop them. Which meant his failures amounted to lying, belittling, and general meanness. He would have to give himself three marks in the “Naughty” column when he got home.

But right now, the most important thing was for him to figure out how to get to Dallas. Time was running out as were his options. A speedy sprint through the airport put him near the ticket counters, and at first he thought he was in luck. The line was non-existent, and it looked like they had just opened.

“A ticket to Dallas,” Santa told the counter attendant.

“The first plane to Dallas leaves at 5:15 AM,” the ticket attendant informed him. “Will that be first class or coach?”

“No, no, no, you don’t understand. I need to leave right now!” Santa was beginning to freak out, but the only shape his face would make was a smile. Is this what pure, abject panic felt like?

“I’m sorry sir, but the first flight we have is at 5:15,” the attendant reiterated. He added with a grin, “What’s the rush? Have some last-minute deliveries to make?”

“Yes, if you must know,” Santa muttered. He turned away, dejected only to have his mood drop even further when he saw Mark, the TSA agent, standing about twenty feet from him. “What? Did you follow me just to watch me fail?”

“Not exactly,” Mark replied, though the look of satisfaction in his eyes indicated the opposite. “I have orders from my boss to get you on the next feasible flight to Dallas. Turns out that’s UPS air-freight, so I’ll escort you back there.”

“Then why are we wasting time here?” Santa asked. He was supposed to be perpetually jolly and kind to all, but the man before him seemed to have a knack for getting under his skin.

“Well, the UPS bird won’t be ready to take off for another fifteen minutes, so I figured there was no harm in watching you strike out,” Mark brazenly answered Santa’s question. A sarcastic tone colored his next words. “Then I could swoop in and be the hero. Although, now that I’ve told you my plan, the hero angle is out.”

“If only I had enough time to swing by your house again, tonight!” Santa growled.

“Whatever!” Mark laughed. Heading toward the bowels of the airport, he called over his shoulder, “Are you coming, Santa?”

Following Mark through two doors marked “Authorized Personnel Only,” Santa found himself in what looked like a subterranean tunnel with a road leading into the distance. He was shocked by the size of the pathway, astounded that it could be so completely hidden from the outside.

“What’s the matter, Santa?” Mark asked as he climbed into a motorized cart. “Surely you have things like this at the North Pole!”

Santa regained his wits, slung his sack into the back of the cart with a grunt, and climbed onto the seat next to Mark. The trip was too fast, and Mark seemed to make sharper corners than necessary, sometimes bringing the cart onto two tires. It almost seemed his purpose may have been to throw his passenger free of the vehicle, but Santa did not mind as he hung on for dear life. Speed was of the essence right now, and if that meant a life-threatening ride, then so be it. After a time, the road started to climb until it ascended onto the tarmac. Mark stopped near the rear of a UPS plane whose engines were already alive and chomping at the bit to get going.

“Enter here and head up to the cockpit,” Mark pointed to the back of the plane which hung open. “They should have a seat up there for you.”

Santa slid out of the cart and retrieved his sack from the back. He started for the plane but hesitated. This time, he did not want to say the words which came to mind, but he knew he had to.

“I couldn’t have done this without you, Mark,” Santa begrudgingly thanked his driver. “I guess even I need Christmas miracles every now and again.”

Without waiting for a response, he headed up the ramp of a plane for the second time this night.

******

 “I guess I have you to thank, once again, Shirley,” Santa spoke into the phone.

“Oh no, sir,” Shirley corrected him from the North Pole. “The whole team has been working on this since you were detained by the TSA. Greg is actually the one who set up both the plane and truck rides with UPS.”

“Well, then pass on my thanks for the good work.” Santa’s next words turned into a grunt as a turn of the truck pressed him into the metal wall of the cargo-carrying compartment. Miraculously, the packages simply teetered precariously but remained stacked and did not cascade onto him.

“I also have some more good news,” Shirley said. “The reindeer arrived home safe and sound and are now on their way to rejoin with your sleigh. Samantha is going with them and will meet you outside the house of your final delivery.”

“Good,” Santa said. “I’ll be glad to get back in my sleigh and head home. Tonight can’t end soon enough.”

“Once you’ve finished your final delivery, sir,” Shirley corrected.

“Once I’ve made my final delivery,” Santa concurred. “In the meantime, while I’m stuck in the back of this truck, can you do me a favor and pull the file for Mark…”

Santa suddenly realized he had no idea what Mark’s last name was. Try as he might, he could not even remember if the man’s name had been posted on his shirt.

“His first name is Mark and he works for the TSA in Baltimore,” Santa said. “That’s all I’ve got.”

“That’s not a lot to go on, sir,” Shirley replied.

“I know,” Santa sighed. “Normally I’d have more information for you but today has been one of those days.”

“Not to worry, sir,” Shirley said. “We’ll see what we can dig up.”

“Thanks, Shirley,” Santa said. “You’re the best head of operations a Santa could ever hope for.”

No sooner had he ended his call than he felt the truck come to a stop. Half a minute later, the back doors opened and the grey light of the approaching dawn silhouetted Abigale.

“I modified the route to get you to your stop first,” she told Santa. She hauled his sack from the truck and helped him to the ground.

“You don’t know how much I appreciate this,” Santa thanked her, accepting his sack. He pointed at the lightening horizon and continued, “Time is of the essence, though, so you’ll forgive me for rushing off.”

“Do whatever you’ve got to do, Santa,” Abigale called after the skinny, red form. She slammed the back doors of the truck and climbed into the driver’s seat, a smile on her lips. This would be one heck of a story to tell her children tomorrow!

Santa sprinted the short distance to the house, but as he approached, his stomach dropped. There was no chimney on this dwelling. Normally he would not have been stymied by this development, but in the excitement of the night, he had managed to leave all his infiltration tools on the sled, a fact he had not realized until just now.

His list of options was very short, and neither of them were good. He could break a window or force the door. In both cases, he would have to dispatch a team to clean up after him, but the door would be easier to fix. He prepared to force the latch but at the last second, remembered a very important rule. He tried the door handle and it was unlocked. The door swung inward on silent hinges, and he scurried forward to leave his gifts for this trio of siblings.

******

 A bump woke Jason up, a bump which any other day of the year he would have ignored, but tonight there could be only one explanation. He rushed down the hall, slowing enough to safely navigate the stairs in his footie pajamas. Once on the first floor, he was about to head for the living room when straight ahead, a gust of wind blew the door open just a few inches. The door was ajar which meant Santa could not be far gone.

Jason ran to the door and stepped out onto the porch, looking around for telltale signs. As his search spread outward, he caught sight of something at the end of the street. The sun was just coming over the horizon in that direction, and he could only make out the roughest of shapes, but Jason was sure he saw a sleigh with reindeer attached to it. He could also make out the shape of a figure who, unless he was mistaken, turned to wave at him before climbing into the sleigh and flying off into the sunrise.

******

 Mark unlocked the door and entered the empty apartment, now illuminated by the rays of the rising sun. There were no decorations outside or in, no tree, no indication that it was Christmas. His shift at the airport had him beat, so he locked the door, tossed his keys into a dish, and headed for his bedroom. As he passed the kitchen, though, an unexpected sight caught his eye. On the table sat a wrapped gift, a folded sheet of paper, and a picture of his wife and three kids, the picture he kept on his nightstand.

Who could have done this? There was no sign of forced entry, so it had to be someone with a key, but no one had a key for this place except for Mark and the apartment complex management. What was going on here?

Quickly, Mark checked the other rooms to make sure the intruder was not still present. Then he returned to the kitchen. After carefully examining the package and finding nothing nefarious, he picked up the paper and unfolded it. Filling the space were hastily scribbled words.

Mark, lest you get the impression that I make empty threats, I really did think long and hard about taking your present back. However, it wouldn’t be the right thing to do, and you need it more than I do. I know you’ve applied three times for a position on the police force in Jerome (my information is almost always correct, but I do hope this is the right city). I’ve put in a recommendation with the police chief and I am confident you will be selected, perhaps even for a detective position since you seem intent on interrogating people! I pray this will be the last Christmas you have to spend away from your family. Thanks for your help last night, and Merry Christmas.

-Craig Claus

******

 At Kimberly’s house, all the presents were open, the paper strewn all over the floor. She knew she should be cleaning up, but Tom and the kid were in the kitchen making breakfast, and this was probably the only solitude she would get all day. As she looked at the Christmas tree, enjoying its decorations and lights, she noticed something she had not seen before. The corner of a wrapped box poked out from behind the tree, a box that was most certainly not there yesterday. Crouching down by the tree, she extracted the package and studied it. The paper was from her stash, but there was no name identifying the recipient. Could this be a surprise from Tom?

A card was affixed to the top, so she opened it to find an index card inside. Handwritten script covered both sides of the card and read:

Kimberly, sorry for the impromptu nature of this card. I also apologize for using your wrapping paper and office supplies, but I ran out of spares last night. I know you have been through many trials and your faith has been tested taken a pounding, especially recently. But know that now is not the time to lose hope. Now is the time to believe. In the present, you will find something familiar, but forgotten. Use it, and let it remind you of what really matters.

-Santa Claus

Stunned by the note, it took Kimberly several minutes to rip the paper off the present before her. Inside she found the beaten-up box of her old nativity scene. She sat there for several minutes, trying to get over the shock of what she had just read. Then, she carefully began to take the figures out of the box and place them on the fireplace mantel. It has been several years since this creche had seen the light of day, but she would take Santa’s advice. It was time to believe again.