A long awaited winter. Jerry B. Marchant

we reach the road, we should be able to flag down a car,” he said, focusing on the task at hand. “We need to act inconspicuously.”

      Irina nodded, her demeanor shifting back to the calculated operative he had known. “I’ll handle the negotiations. Just follow my lead.”

      They reached the road, a narrow, winding path that led to the nearest town. J.D. glanced at Irina, feeling a mix of admiration and apprehension. “You really believe we can pull this off?”

      “Believe? No. But I know we have to try,” she replied, her voice firm. “The stakes are too high, and the clock is ticking.”

      As they stood by the roadside, a vehicle approached in the distance. J.D.’s heart raced as he raised a hand, signaling for the driver to stop. The car slowed, the driver eyeing them with curiosity.

      “Just remember,” Irina said softly, “no matter what happens, we stick together.”

      The car that approached was a sleek, silver sedan, its polished exterior glinting in the winter sun. The driver was a middle-aged man, perhaps in his late forties, with salt-and-pepper hair neatly combed back. His angular face bore the lines of experience, hinting at a life lived on the edge. He wore a dark wool coat that contrasted sharply with the crisp white of his shirt, and a patterned scarf wrapped loosely around his neck added a touch of color. His piercing green eyes, sharp and observant, scanned J.D. and Irina with a mix of curiosity and caution.