Everyone stood pop-eyed as Charles Martin, aka Santa Claus, climbed into the sleigh. He looked more like Santa than Santa himself. Next to him was Myra Rutledge, aka Mrs. Santa Claus. Six elves dressed in red and green costumes climbed in alongside the two most important guests. As the sleigh bells jangled, the women and Santa kept up a running conversation that consisted of Bert was in charge, they were cleared to enter the White House grounds nearest the West Wing, where the sleigh would drive across the lawn as the children clustered around for a few merry ho-ho-ho’s before the party departed the sleigh for the party room, where treats and presents would be handed out.

“That’s the plan,” Nikki said. “The White House and the Secret Service think Baron Bell is the Santa and Mrs. Santa is his office secretary. That was the last thing we had Bell do before we left the apartment. Annie held a gun to his head, and he did it without a peep. We should be good to go. Everyone cross their fingers that we pull this off. How’d it go with the babies?” she yelled to Ted.

“Just fine,” Ted yelled back. “How long ago did Maggie leave?”

“About ten minutes before we did. Espinosa is uploading the pictures as we speak, and Maggie is going to do her best to get out a special edition for early morning tomorrow.”

“What about Bell and his friends?” Ted shouted as the horses galloped down the middle of the road.

“Snowden’s people were waiting in the lobby when we left. They’ll use the city sanitation truck Bert had his people leave at the curb. They’re history. Don’t give them another thought,” Yoko said, her eyes on her beloved, who she thought belonged on a horse.

She had such a dreamy look on her face, Isabelle gave her a swat.

“He looks like John Wayne,” Yoko gushed.

Isabelle rolled her eyes, then burst out laughing. “Don’t ever lose your imagination, honey.”

Up ahead, Espinosa looked over at Bert. “Shouldn’t you get there before us? We’re supposed to be crowd control. What are you supposed to be?”

“The guy who shoves his foot up Paterno’s ass when we get there. He’s the guy in charge of the Secret Service at the White House, and we hate each other’s guts. He’s going to want to do an inspection of the sleigh, card everyone, so to speak, then talk into his sleeve for an hour before he pronounces us fit to enter the sacred grounds of the White House.”

“We’re doomed then,” Espinosa said.

“Nah, we got the good guys on our side. I called Lizzie, who called the president, and Connor will be waiting for us. Once in a while I get it right, Espinosa.”