The Housewife Assassin's Ghost Protocol (16 page)

Hey, at least Rudy got him to come to the phone.
 

Rudy senses another presence in the room, and turns my way. Seeing me, he blanches. I can’t say I blame him. Today, I’m not at my most beauteous by a long shot. As part of my cover, I’ve set up my interview as “Marilyn Talbot,” supposedly a DARPA public information officer assigned to interview him for a magazine profile article. Once publicly disseminated, it should embellish his cred with other governmental agencies, as well as his stockholders—

Not to mention Horace Levy.

So, why would he risk it all for a treason rap?

We’ll find out soon. Today, if I have my way.

Marilyn is supposed to be so innocuous that he’ll soon forget her. With that in mind, I’m wearing a white turtleneck that would do a nun proud. My boxy navy suit hides any and all curves. To complete this frigid ensemble, I’ve crammed my feet into square-toed one-inch pumps, I wear square-framed glasses, and have my hair flattened into a severe women’s-prison-matron’s bun that sits heavily at the nape of my neck.

Even now, Rudy would prefer to inspect his well-manicured nails than look at me, as if doing so will burn his corneas.
 

So, mission accomplished—

Except for the fact that, in his shock, he’s tossed his phone on his credenza, a full twenty feet from me.

“This is a treat,” he mutters as he proffers his hand. In the nanosecond he allows for a handshake, our palms barely touch.

“Oh, Mr. Brooks, the pleasure is all mine,” I gush. “This is a dream assignment for me! I’m all ears about”—I wink knowingly—“Project Hercules.”
 

He puffs up at my compliments, finally forcing his lips into a welcoming smile. “How about a little tour of the project’s lab? It’s where we make the magic.”

“Super! Sounds like a plan! Mind if I record our conversation?” I pull out my cellphone and hold it up.

He shrugs. “Sure, why not?” He heads for the door.

“Um…don’t you want to take your cell phone with you?”

“Nah. I want to give you my complete and undivided attention.” He winks. “You deserve it.”

Yikes.

As I follow him out the door, he tells his assistant, “I’m letting my calls roll over to voice mail. Don’t disturb me while I’m with Miss Talbot.”

She nods vigorously, but smothers a sly grin. I take it I don’t look like the typical woman for whom he holds calls. “If anyone calls to find out why you aren’t picking up, when shall I say you’ll be back?”

“This won’t take more than twenty minutes.” He drills me with his eyes, as if making that clear to me as well.
 

“Even if it’s Mr. Ellison, or Mr. Andreessen?”
 

He sighs mournfully. “Yes, Chloe—
anyone
. I’ll be back as soon as I walk Miss Talbot out.”

If he escorts me out after the damn tour, the mission is screwed.

I try to think of some reason to change his mind, but he’s already shepherding me down the hall, to the room where “the magic” takes place:
 
Operation Hercules’ lab.

Rudy talks a mile a minute, but nothing he tells me is more than the media sound bites he’ll be spouting as soon as Operation Hercules is revealed to an unknowing public.

But, revealed by whom: the U.S. government? Or, the Quorum, while boasting it stole it from the U.S. Defense Department as it auctions off these so-called super soldiers to the highest bidding terrorist organizations?
 

Trust me, no DARPA public information officer would know how to spin that one.
 

Besides recording him on my cell phone’s digital audio app, Emma is also monitoring the mission via my audio bud and security cam contact lenses.

So far, his answers barely touch the surface. Despite encouraging him to call me Marilyn, he keeps things formal to the point that he practically hisses the salutation “Miss.”
 

I’m okay with that. He’s not my type anyway. But because my goal is access to his cell phone, I am
not
okay with the fact that he doesn’t have his cell on him.

I’ve got to get back into his office so that I can access it.

Up until now, I’ve been nodding benignly. Time to turn up the heat. Holding my hands behind my back, I slide off my wedding and engagement rings before slipping the engagement ring back on alone.

“Too bad all of this is top secret! It’s such an interesting and worthwhile application for civilian use too. My fiancé would be all over financing something like this.”

Rudy’s eyes open, as if noticing me for the very first time—and this time he isn’t forcing himself to be polite.

To validate my claim, I hold up my hand so that he can admire my engagement ring. “In fact, this is my last assignment at DARPA before my nuptials.”

“Congratulations,” Rudy’s politeness is tempered by a doubtful smirk. “Who’s the lucky guy?”
 

“He lives here in Silicon Valley.” I shrug. “Horace Levy. He does a lot of work with…er, the Pentagon.” To let him know I realize my
faux pas
, I tap my mouth with my palm. “You didn’t hear that from me.”

It takes a few moments before Rudy realizes his jaw has dropped open. If only he knew he was salivating too. “Horace? Yes, I know Horace!...Of course not, Mum’s the word!” He’s telling the truth. The sole purpose of his call to Horace is because of his governmental connections. “Oh, and listen, Marilyn: feel free to mention DNA 10Squared to him.”

I put a finger to my lips to remind him that we share a secret. “Can’t! At least, not now that your project is top secret. I guess it’s why your company isn’t already on his radar.” I snap off my audio app. “But who knows what the future holds?” It’s my turn to give a suggestive wink. “I should be going. Horace and I are going into the city for dinner. Traffic between Palo Alto and the city is awful in the early evening!”

“I’m surprised he doesn’t just helicopter in,” Rudy mutters.

I stare at him until he’s uncomfortable, but then I burst out laughing, stymying him to no end. “Oh, but we are! I
was
referring to San Francisco’s
copter
traffic.” I look down at my watch. “As soon as Mark and Priscilla reach Horace’s helipad, we’ll take off. They’re both standing up for us”—I duck my head shyly—“you know, during the nuptials.” I wave off the hopeful look in his eye, “It’ll be just a small wedding party at Horace’s Mendocino lodge. He’s a very shy person.”

Rudy frowns. “So I’ve been told.”

I smile hopefully. “Rudy, I noticed you have what looked like an authentic Picasso in your office. Before I head out, would you mind if I took a closer look at it? He’s one of my favorite artists.” I duck my head shyly. “I was an art history major until I realized it wouldn’t pay the bills. It’ll be a joy living among Horace’s wonderful collection.”

Rudy’s eyes flicker with jealousy. Still, he’s able to keep it at bay in order to exclaim, “By all means.”

“You should be just as proud of your part in Operation Hercules,” I whisper reverently. “I’m sure it’ll pay off in spades.”

“That’s the plan,” he declares.
 

When we walk back, he’s got his hand firmly on my back.

“It’s…just…beautiful,” I sigh, as I wipe away an imaginary crocodile tear. I don’t know how long I’ve stood in front of the Picasso—certainly the four minutes and thirty seconds needed for Arnie’s Trojan app to do its thing.

“Transmitting,” Emma assures me.

Just at that moment, Rudy’s face lights up along with a grand notion: “Take it.”
 

“Say
what
?” Emma practically shouts in my ear.

I shake my head, and not just to get her voice out of my head. “No…no! I couldn’t!”
 

“I insist. Consider it my wedding present to you and Horace.” To prove that he won’t hear no for an answer, he plucks it from the wall and holds it out to me.

“Mr. Brooks, I—”

“Call me Rudy, please. And may I call you Marilyn? …Good! Marilyn, I mean it. If you don’t take it, I’ll be insulted! Horace is a saint of our industry. If this makes you happy, then I’m happy too.”

“Oh…shit!” Emma squeals in my ear. “A
Picasso
!”

I back out toward the door. “He’ll be as speechless as I am.”

He waves me out. “It’s only a painting, after all. I’m sure Horace will be the first to say, ‘the world is the totality of facts, not things’.”

Yet again with the Wittgenstein witticisms? The dude needs new material. “You’re probably right,” I murmur. I smile as I wave goodbye—

And hightail it out of there.

“What will you say to Ryan?” Emma asks when I’m safely down the road.

“Oh, hell, I don’t know!” I sigh. “One thing for sure: I won’t be quoting Wittgenstein.”

Because Evan is worried about being late for his appointment on the Berkeley campus with Dr. Wollstonecraft, he begs me to drop him off in front of the building while I search out a nearby parking spot.
 

There aren’t any.
 

By the time I find one and hustle to the Bioengineering building, he’s already been introduced to her.

Worse yet, they’ve started the tour without me.

I won’t be able to plant the Trojan until they get back. Even then, it may be a long shot, based on what the department’s administrative assistant says. “The professor appreciated his promptness, considering how full her agenda is today.” She nods at the roomful of teens and their parents who squirm anxiously in their seats beside me.
 

“Perhaps if you call her to find out where they are, I can join them,” I suggest brightly.

The assistant leans in and whispers, “To tell you the truth, Professor Wollstonecraft prefers having one-on-one time with prospective students. She feels they’re more candid in sharing the goals they have for their futures.”

In other words, there’s nothing I can do but cool my heels.
 

I take my seat beside the assistant, and wait. And wonder how to explain to Ryan that I blew it.

Twenty minutes later, I hear Evan’s voice from down the hallway, thanking Dr. Wollstonecraft for “agreeing to meet with me on such short notice.” By the time they come into view, he adds, “Berkeley is very high on my wish list. But I guess you hear that from everyone.”