Neal's briefcase was in fact at that moment going through the Lincoln Tunnel on its way to northern New Jersey. The man driving the dark brown Chevy it was in was talking over a radio to someone else. "I have landed safely and will be arriving with your package in no fewer than five minutes," he was saying.

"Good," said the person on the other end of the line. "Don't screw up before you arrive, or else."

"That's an affirmative," the man said, with a hint of nervousness in his voice, most likely due to the threat. "However, I can't really see how." The radio went dead on the other end. The man took a deep breath as he came out of the Tunnel and back into the Secaucus area. He was hoping deep down nothing went wrong before he reached his destination; it had taken him two full weeks to get the contents of his initial briefcase, which had been very well guarded. His client wanted them so badly that he had told the courier to kill himself in the event of a no-way-out situation, as it was his philosophy to die in "battle" rather than to be subject to the agony of defeat.

The courier turned off the first exit he came across. Right off the ramp was the run-down remnants of an old sign that had once said proudly, "GREY ARMY BASE, LEFT ½ MILE." What was left of a CLOSED sign that had been screwed over it lay hanging from the bottom. Despite this indication that the base was technically no longer up and running, the courier made the turn into the former army complex. At first look the facility seemed abandoned, but no sooner did the brown Chevy stop at the front gate than three soldiers stepped out from behind the guardhouses, toting very real rifles. The tallest one knocked on the Chevy's window. "Identification, please," he asked the courier once he'd rolled down his window. The courier pulled out his driver's license and displayed it. "I have the general's merchandise," he told the soldiers.

"Okay, you can pass," the tall soldier said. He nodded to his companions, who promptly raised the base's gate. The courier slowly drove through, all the way to the far end of the complex, where he parked behind some bushes, where his car would be out of sight to anyone driving by on the nearby expressway. He picked up Neal's briefcase from the seat and started walking toward the largest building, a former headquarters structure. Two more soldiers were waiting there for him. "Good luck on getting through," one told him as he entered the building. "General Blum will be very happy you got him his Christmas present this year."

"I hope so," the courier responded. The two soldiers followed him into the headquarters building. "The package is coming down the chimney; I repeat, the package is coming down the chimney," the other one said into a walkie-talkie. The three of them walked briskly down the hall and made a right turn toward a group of elevators. Upon entering, the first soldier pressed the button on the panel that was labeled, "DEFCON 4 WAR BUNKER." The ride to that floor took a good two minutes-it apparently was the lowest possible floor in the structure-and was not without the occasional jerking motion from the elevator cables. Apparently, it hadn't been used in quite a while.

When the doors finally opened on the DEFCON 4 War Bunker floor, a nerdy-looking lieutenant with horned-rim glasses was waiting in salute position. "Greetings, friend," he told the courier loudly, "First Lieutenant Leo F. Maltin, top aide to General David A. Blum, at your service." His voice was also very nerdy. "I see you have what my superior wanted for Christmas this year, so follow me, and we'll close this little deal."

"Fair enough," the courier said. He followed Lieutenant Maltin down a labyrinth of corridors and hallways that seemed to go nowhere. Finally, they entered what looked like a very active command center. Military personnel were hunched over computers and control panels stretching from wall to wall, talking into headsets all the while. On the giant screen at the front of the room was an electronic map of the entire world, with red dots in areas that were known hotspots of fighting. The entire atmosphere of the place was like something straight out of a war movie.

Lieutenant Maltin strode up to an office at the rear of the room. He knocked as hard as he could on the door. "Santa Claus is here with your gift, sir," he called into the office.

"Bring him in," came the gruff and agitated reply. Lieutenant Maltin opened the door and motioned for the courier to enter, which he did somewhat nervously.

General David A. Blum looked up from his desk. He had been waiting for his "present" for a long time now. Not since that somewhat humiliating little day in the early 80s when that hopelessly short-sighted Reagan and his Joint Chiefs of Staff bureaucrats had thrown him out of their army for not agreeing with their policies had he had something to truly be happy about. But as times change, so do fortunes, and now the general knew he stood on the verge of paying the government back for its wrongs against him AND getting America back to its TRUE foreign policy, that in which it was infallible and the leader of the world.

General Blum was a squat, plump man in his late 50s. His uniform, once brilliant and befitting a two-star general, had by now deteriorated to the point where it took his staff several hours each day just to keep it looking like it still was brand new. Although a stickler for all his men to be clean-shaven as per army regulations, he sprouted himself a large black mustache of which he felt did him well. Although having been away from combat for almost 20 years, he was a lifelong soldier, having joined as a sergeant back in the mid 60s.

The general wasn't alone in the room. Leaning against the nearest filing cabinet, leafing through some plans and memos, was General Blum's second in command, Colonel Charles F. Champlin. General Blum considered Colonel Champlin his closest friend, the two of them having graduated from West Point together and served together throughout every major U.S. conflict in the 60s and 70s. In fact, Colonel Champlin was the only member of the general's command that he really allowed himself to speak informally with at any time-to the rest of them, he was just the commanding officer, addressable only by "Sir." A man of few words who made up for his lack of speech with bold and tenacious fighting tactics, Champlin had been given several opportunities to take his own command through the years, but was happier in a secondary role with Blum than in charge of his own brigade or corps, taking and translating order after order.

Also near the back wall, busy loading his rifle, was General Blum's own son, Major Sherman Blum. Although Sherman had not been intended to follow his father into the army, he had done just that, and had in a matter of just nine years advanced all the way up to his current rank. He had proven himself many times to be a good and competent soldier, and the general had high expectations for him once he'd reestablished himself as a leading figure in the U.S. Army...provided Sherman's loyalty, currently very strong, didn't falter as had the general's ex-wife once she'd found out about his.aggressiveness in Vietnam. Of course, she had found out that she had crossed the wrong man a little too late, and to the present day, her remains had not yet been found, but that was another story. And on the general's desk, his pet "war hawk" Douglas-a Southeast Asian hawk that he'd taken from its nest as a hatchling in Vietnam and raised it to help him spot and thus annihilate NVA & VC forces-was busy preening its feathers.

General Blum managed a smile as he caught seen of the briefcase he had been dreaming about for so long now-which was unique, as he rarely ever smiled for any reason. "I trust you had a safe and stress-free journey?" he inquired to the courier.

"Yes, General Blum, sir," the courier responded somewhat enthusiastically.

"There were no security problems either here or in Washington whatsoever. In fact, I doubt they even know this is missing yet!"

"Very good," General Blum told him in a satisfied tone. "The longer they don't know the better. And by the time they do find out, I'll have nuked the world so badly they won't be able to do anything in response!"

He chuckled to himself. Within hours, the ultimate revenge would be his: with the codes to every U.S. ICBM and short-range missile, as well as the even more top-secret Russian ICBM missile codes now in his possession, he'd launch every one he could get contact with, and the resulting Armageddon would wipe out all the bureaucratic wimps still in power not just in the U.S. but around the world as well, and establish a new order with himself as supreme ruler, it's aim to spread the true message of American supremacy to the Commies and cowards. It was with these thoughts in mind that he unlocked the briefcase and opened it up. His expression promptly fell when he got a glimpse of what was inside. For a moment, he stood there emotionless. Then he burst into laughter. Not knowing what else to do, the courier starting laughing himself, followed moments later by an equally confused Lieutenant Maltin. "I don't get it, General Blum, sir; what's so funny?" the courier asked.

"Is this supposed to be a joke?" General Blum demanded, no humor in his voice now.

"I'm afraid I don't understand, sir."

"Well then, what is THIS??" the general shoved the open briefcase into his face, showing him all of Neal's private papers instead of the codes. The courier went pale. "I-I-I honestly don't know, sir," he admittedly weakly. "I-I could swear I had the same one all the time!"

"WELL APPARENTLY YOU DIDN'T!!!" General Blum yelled. "SO NOW THAT THAT'S IN THE OPEN, WHERE IS MY BRIEFCASE OF CODES!?"

"Um, um, um,." the courier thought frantically. "Wait a minute, sir, I know; I saw a guy at the airport pick up a suitcase similar looking to the one I had all the time after my luggage rack crashed into his; he must have it!"

"And would you by chance know where he was going?" the general asked sternly.

"Give me a minute.wait, now I remember, he was headed toward the American counter, and the next plane leaving there was going to Chicago! That's where it is; on that flight to Chicago!"

"Good, at least we know where it is," the general said. "You are dismissed, Roeper."

The courier turned to leave. General Blum reached into his pocket for one of his Colt .45's. "Oh, and Roeper, before you go." Before the courier had even fully turned around, Blum had blasted him clean through with a pinpoint shot.

"With all due respect, sir, was killing him absolutely necessary?" Lieutenant Maltin asked after the courier's body crumpled to the floor around his feet.

"Yes, Lieutenant, it was ABSOLUTELY necessary," the general said smugly. Lieutenant Maltin was not at all his favorite soldier in his command; in fact, it puzzled him to this day how a nerd like Maltin ever got into the army to begin with. The man was constantly annoying him with unnecessary facts and figures, and screwing up just about every task that was sent his way. But at least he was unquestionably loyal, at that was why General Blum kept him on as top adjutant despite all the misery the man brought to him. But personal issues were on the back of his mind now. "OK," he said now to everyone else in the room, "due to his screw-up (he pointed at the dead courier as he said this), we're going to have to use Plan C-6 to get the codes back. Lieutenant," he said directly to Lieutenant Maltin, "call JFK and ask when the last American Airlines flight to Chicago left, then tell our relay guys so they can put it up on our radar range."

"Yes, sir," Lieutenant Maltin said loudly, "and then what do I do, sir?"

"Standby until we shoot it down," General Blum told him, somewhat irked that the lieutenant didn't make the obvious connection right away. "Once it's down, we'll send out a retrieval squad-which I've decided to let YOU lead-to pick up the codes and do any necessary mop-up work."

"Me? With all due respect, why me, sir?" Lieutenant Maltin asked, puzzled; he hadn't anticipated any fieldwork for this operation.

"Because I think it's time you get some fresh air; you've been cooped up in here too long," the general told him. "Now go and call the airport like I asked you!"

"Yes, sir, right away sir," a reluctant Maltin said as he saluted and walked out. General Blum pressed the intercom button on his desk. "Siskel, Ebert; report to the main office immediately for instructions!" he barked.

"Da.I mean, sir," Sherman Blum now spoke, drawing somewhat closer to his father's desk, "With your permission, I'd like to be part of the retrieval squad."

General Blum looked straight at his son. As much as he was proud of the bright future he had in mind for the boy, part of him still dreaded sending him off into battle for the first time, and this weighed heavily on his mind as he considered the request. But he quickly shoved these fears aside, telling himself that this was just going to be a mop-up job once the plane was down, and that Sherman would not likely be exposed to any real danger, so it was with this fear off his chest that he told his son, "Well, Major, if you're bent on being part of this mission, I guess I can only say 'permission granted.'"

"Thank you, sir," Sherman said proudly, giving his father a big salute. "I can assure you I won't disappoint you."

"See to it you don't, Major," the general told him. At that moment, there was another knock on the office door, and two privates, one thin and one fat, marched in. "You called for us, sir?" asked the thin one.

"Yes, Private, I have an assignment for you and Private Ebert," General Blum told him. "Muster your fellow pilots to their planes and then set out at once toward the Great Lakes; there's a plane heading toward Chicago I want you to shoot down for me. Further instructions and directions will be relayed to you in the air. Now go to your planes and remember, you're striking blows for the true spirit of America."

"Yes, sir!" Private Siskel said. He and Private Ebert saluted and left in unison. "You may go about your business until I announce that you're needed for action, Major," General Blum informed Sherman. His son nodded, saluted, and left. The general gave the still-preening Douglas a few affectionate strokes and turned toward the still-silent Colonel Champlin. "Well, Chuck, it'll take us longer than we expected, but we'll still have our little Christmas present before the holiday's out," he said to his #2 guy confidently. Colonel Champlin nodded in return. "And to think," the general continued, "that on that plane right now, those people have no idea that they're going to be martyrs for a patriotic cause!" This last statement brought out a rare smile to his face as thought about all the people who would qualify at that moment as new "martyrs."

Aboard another plane flying over the western Great Plains at that same moment, Kevin was deep in the middle of Chamber of Secrets. Although this was about the fifth time he'd read the book, he still found it incredibly interesting, which was in his mind a true testament to the series' greatness. It had been two Christmases ago that he had first discovered Harry Potter's world, after having caught a brief expose of the series in an issue of Time magazine at his school and thinking it might be the kind of story he'd like. And it sure turned out to be; he'd read all the books in the series up to that point in less than 96 hours and became a permanent fan. In the time between then and now, he'd pressured his parents to reserve both the fourth book and tickets for the movie well in advance. Although they'd sometimes tell him he was getting a little obsessed with the series at times, they'd for the most part been happy that he'd found something he liked to read so much. And indeed, although Kevin knew that the world of Hogwarts was in practicality imaginary, sometimes at night when he couldn't sleep, he'd wonder to himself whether or not he'd get an invitation to some magical school next January 15th when he officially turned 11.if only to learn curses to use on Buzz, the living combination of the very worst of both Dudley Dursley and Draco Malfoy.

Speaking of Buzz, the big brother from hell just happened to be walking by in the aisle just now, and by chance at the exact moment he passed by Kevin's seat, Kevin felt a liquid dripping down the back of his neck. He put his hand up to it: it was undeniably soda, much like the one Buzz had ordered from the refreshment cart but had not finished. The sound of Buzz trying to suppress a snicker as he walked away up the aisle sealed his guilt. Kevin was incensed at his brother's underhanded tactics in disposing his soda. But he wasn't going to strike back this time; he'd learned well enough from the punishments he'd gotten just before the last two years' Christmas vacations that striking back would only land him in hot water himself, so he pretended not to notice in the hopes that Buzz would get bored and pick on another member of the family instead.

Kevin put his book aside for the moment and leaned over a now sound asleep Fuller to glance out the window. The ground below looked beautiful with its patchwork of yellowish-brown fields and white snow patches. With no hills around, it stretched out in a continuous blanket for miles and miles, as there were very few clouds just outside the plane to obstruct Kevin's view. The sight of all the snow made him feel a little sad that he was going to be spending Christmas in L.A., where it never snowed. While the rest of his family, both immediate and extended, couldn't care all that much for a White Christmas anymore, such an occurrence was still a major factor for Kevin in order for the holidays to feel right. Oh well, he thought to himself, at least he got to see some snow fall in December last week when a storm dropped about three inches on the Chicago area, so at least he got to see some before the holidays. The same couldn't be said for his friend Alex Pruitt, who had left for Christmas at his grandparents' in Phoenix just after Thanksgiving and who would be gone until after the New Year. Kevin had sent him a snow-themed e-mail card the past week to help ease the strain of going to an all-summer climate for that long, although it had been hard to get control of the computer from his siblings, who normally were up all night gossiping to their friends.

In retrospective, it is interesting to note that Kevin was thinking about snow at that moment, for as these thoughts were going through his mind, the pilot's voice came over the intercom. "Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen, this is your captain speaking," he announced. "The latest weather reports just came through to us, and it happens that there's a blizzard in place over the Rockies that's slowly moving eastward, and it looks unlikely that's we'll be able to climb over it, so I regret to inform you all that we will be forced to make an emergency landing in Denver in about twenty minutes. Sorry for your inconvenience."

Half the people in coach groaned. Kevin was perplexed over whether or not they'd make it to Denver, as he knew the city to be in the Rocky Mountains itself, and if they couldn't make it, where would they land? He crossed his fingers and hoped nothing would go wrong during their descent.

Uncle Frank came through the curtain separating coach from first class, Kate following on his heels. ".stupid emergency landings!" he was grumbling to his sister-in-law, "Every time one little storm blows up, they shut down and wade it out at the nearest airport they can reach!"

"Frank, it's not all that bad; worst-case scenario, we're a couple of hours late," Kate said in an attempt to calm him back down.

"Well, I hope they don't try and charge us extra for this delay!" Frank growled. "I had my family's savings neatly planned out for this trip, and the last thing I need is for something to throw a wrench into my nice, orderly allotments! Now if you'll excuse me, I'd like to use the restroom before they turn on the Seatbelt sign!" He skulked off, looking none the more pleased. Kate shot a glance that was half pity, half irritation in Uncle Frank's direction, and then cleared her throat to all the McCallisters in coach. "OK, everyone," she announced, "now that you've heard about the delay, here's how it's going to go: once we land in Denver, we're all going to find a row of seats close to the American gates for you kids to wait at, while the grown-ups including myself will try and make sure we're reserved on the next flight that's going out to L.A. It may take a couple of hours, but we'll make it through. "Is that all right?"

Ten heads nodded in compliance. Kate smiled and said, "Okay, we'll all meet together on the ground when the plane lands," and went back up front to first class. Kevin felt mixed emotions; on one hand, this was a new experience for him (and one he'd wished had happened the last two years, as it would have allowed his family to find him more quickly than they eventually did), but he realized that due to the forced landing, his parents would keep an even tighter watch on him than ever before, and that, in his mind would be extremely humiliating, especially if there were other ten-year-olds in the airport whose flights were also grounded.

Kevin tried to put this fear in the backs of his mind as he glanced up to the plane's movie screen, which was showing the third film in a gangster trilogy, Angels with the Filthiest Souls of All. He'd seen it before, as Uncle Frank had given his father the entire trilogy last year as a Christmas present, but he'd never been allowed to watch the part that was coming up just now: the climactic seen where the main gangster, Johnny, was arriving in the middle of a deserted street to make a cash swap with the rival gang in the film. He was stepping out of his car and walking straight down the middle of the street toward his enemies, who outnumbered him at least fifty to one. They all stopped about five inches from each other. "So you made it, Johnny," the leader of the opposing mob said to the main character.

"Yeah, and I'm glad to see you here too, Eddie," Johnny said nonchalantly. "I'd had a feeling you'd go off and call the cops on me."

"Now seriously, Johnny, do you think I'd really do that?"

"I know you better than you know yourself, bub," Johnny sniggered. "Have you got what I asked for?"

Eddie nodded to a tall, thin mobster on his right side. This man opened the briefcase he was carrying to reveal at least ten thousand dollars. "Now have you got what I want?" Eddie asked Johnny.

"Of course I got it," Johnny said, but he didn't reveal anything, prompting Eddie to shout, "If you've got it, give it to me!"

"Just a minute, chump," Johnny snapped, "how do I know that you ain't been informin' on me to the law? You may just have conveniently put a nice little tracking device in your trunk there, so that they can pick me up just as I'm startin' to go!"

"When I make a promise, Johnny, I keep it!" Eddie said in a tone that hinted he was lying.

"Oh yeah?" Johnny snarled, "Well I know somethin' you don't; your pal Codsy was of the opinion you'd sell me out to the cops once this was over and done with!"

"Codsy who?"

"You know very well who; that redhead friend of yours, he's been sleepin' with the dogs every night!"

"He's a dog catcher in his spare time, what do you expect!?"

"That ain't important!" Johnny barked. "What is important is, he told me after a couple of rounds of cocktails that you was plannin' to rat me out after tonight. And in case yer wonderin' where he is right now, he's currently enjoyin' his new home inside the car crusher at the city dump!" Eddie and his fellow gangsters shuffled around nervously. "I guess I could turn youse mugs over to the fuzz when they show," Johnny now said with confidence and hostility mixing in his voice, "but I'll give youse guys a break. Instead of turnin' ya in, I'm gonna give ya to the count of five to get yer dirty, pathetic, low-life-lyin', worthless faces off my territory." he marched over to what looked like a snowed-in car and pulled off a hidden tarp to reveal a very large artillery piece, ".before I introduces ya all to my howitzer!"

Eddie gulped nervously, and his eyes went wide with horror. "Very well, Johnny, I get your point. He turned to his followers, "All right men, GET OUTTA HERE!!!!" The mobsters all took off running.

"FIVE!" Johnny opened fire with his cannon and started laughing demonically, as always. Kevin quickly shifted his eyes down to his book's pages to avoid watching the gory shooting. He waited until there was a brief pause in the gunfire, then dared to look up as it started. Having dispatched all his foes, Johnny was now taking what was left of his rage out on the storefronts all up and down the block. Glass shattered, neon signs exploded, and facades collapsed to the street under the heavy fire. Finally, after about a minute of this senseless carnage, Johnny stopped firing and broke into a smile. "It was nice meetin' ya, ya filthy animals!" he snickered up the street to all the dead gangsters he'd just mowed down in cold blood. Kevin tried to put the chills now running up and down his spine to rest by diving full force into the world of Harry Potter. "It's just fiction," he told himself, "It's just fiction, and it's only a movie.a gruesome one, but still only a movie."