The Housewife Assassin's Ghost Protocol (24 page)

Worst. Hangover. Ever.

I open one eye to find myself staring at Ryan. Jack is sprawled on the other side of the couch. Trisha holds an ice pack to the back of his head.

Jeff, Mary, Evan, and Jean-Pierre hover over me. Seeing my second eye open, their faces flash from concern to relief.

When I try to jump up, one of my ankles feels leaden—

For good reason: I’m wearing an ankle monitor.
 

That’s when I notice: so is Jack.

“It was the best I could do,” Ryan explains. He holds little Nicky in his arms. The toddler is smacking him on the head. Ryan is pretending to frown, but Nicky knows better. Giggles squeak out of him.
 

Someone is coming in through the back door. I’m relieved to see it’s only Arnie and Emma, with boxes of pizza. “Come and get it, kids,” she commands them.
 

Reluctantly, Evan and my children head in her direction. When Jeff passes, Ryan hands him Nicky. Jeff stutters, “But…I mean, what if he—”
 

Ryan stuffs the diaper bag under Jeff’s arm. “You’re not a man until you’ve changed one, trust me.”

Noting that Jean-Pierre stays put, Mary says, “I think they mean all of us.”

Jean-Pierre, stone-faced, shakes his head. “My place is here, with Madame Craig.”

Hearing this, Jack raises a brow.

Mary looks warily at me.
 

Steamed, Evan pulls Mary into the kitchen with him, letting the door shut behind them.

Ah, jealousy. If I weren’t so angry myself about this absurd situation, I’d revel in it.
 

Instead, I lean back onto the couch. “Does someone want to tell me what the heck is going on?”

Ryan sighs. “Apparently, you’re a person of interest in the bombing of Vice President Drucker’s motorcade.”

I leap up. “But…but how can that be? Didn’t you show Lee the Acme SatCom footage of the actual killers? Didn’t they see that it was Carl and some…some woman?”

“Yes, I showed it to POTUS, Branham, Todd and Blake Reynolds. But it’s Reynolds’ supposition that you and Jack are allied with the newly resurrected Carl.”

“Ha! Really?” I roll my eyes. “Now, that’s rich! And how did he come up with this little bit of malarkey? Has he forgotten that Jack and I discovered the breaches in the first place?”

“He’s hanging his premise on the fact that it was you and Jack who confirmed Carl’s supposed death in the first place,” Ryan points out. “He also claims that the Acme SatCom footage bears this out: that you’re the woman with Carl who attacked the vice president’s motorcade; and that you did so because Drucker was pushing for an investigation into the leaks on the super soldier project”—he clears his throat—“which would have revealed that Carl now walks among the living, and that he is the true leader of the Quorum, as well as the mastermind behind the Operation Hercules theft and these terrorist assaults.”

“Carl, maybe,” I concede, “But I have proof I was elsewhere: the Spooks Anonymous meeting! There were witnesses, including Bosworth—”

Ryan shakes his head. “Bosworth is on the run. And for that matter, we can’t find anyone else, either. They’ve all disappeared.”

“The hotel’s security footage will bear it out,” I counter. “I entered before the carnage started, and left after the shooters—”

Emma shakes her head. “Sadly, all of the hotel’s footage of the ingress and egress into its parking lot has been erased as well. However, the NSA’s own SatCom footage of cars coming and going from the hotel matches ours—including that of the suspects’ car, upon leaving the Hilton to make the hit. It also matches ours as to where the suspects went, after they split up.” Her blush comes with a pitying look toward me. “Here’s what happened to the female suspect.”

She starts another video.
 

The woman’s car goes south on 405, but only a few exits before it takes the one to Hilldale. But before it reaches my gated community, she pulls onto a narrow residential street studded with leafy oak trees. Her final turn is into the large circular driveway of a large ranch home with a three-car garage.

When she backs out again, it’s in a car that is the twin of mine.

She stops it when she reaches the street in order to get out and check the mailbox. She is no longer wearing the hat or sunglasses.

In fact she makes it a point to look around, and then up at the sky, as if she knows all eyes are on her.

The woman is me.

“But…It…I was at Acme! So was the real Donna-mobile! It’s how I got Bosworth to Dr. Friedman!”

“As always, your comings and goings from Acme are done via the company’s tunnel into our underground parking lot…” Ryan doesn’t have to spell it out:
 

Only my Acme colleagues can vouch that I was there during the time in question.

And, if they aren’t now under suspicion, standing up for me will certainly cast a shadow of doubt over the whole organization.

“Why is Jack shackled as well?” I ask.

“It’s also Reynolds’ contention that Carl sent Jack to kill Gordon.”

“Proof positive that the man is an idiot,” Jack grouses.

Ryan frowns, but chooses to ignore him. “Gordon’s body was discovered within twenty minutes of Jack leaving his place. Had the police arrived earlier, he might have been arrested on the spot, and held in some DC jail. At least he got this far.”

“Let me guess: there is no exterior footage of anyone else around the property, leaving Jack as the fall guy,” I retort.

“Bingo,” Jack mutters.

“In Lee’s defense, he doesn’t buy into Reynolds’ allegations. In fact, it was POTUS’s directive that you’re not to be taken into custody. Instead, you’re to stay under house arrest until Branham’s people can do a side-by-side analysis of our SatCom footage along with the current evidence. If it disproves Reynolds’ theory, you’ll be free to go.” He stands up. “In the meantime, there is to be no contact with anyone after this meeting—including anyone from Acme.”

“How much do you want to bet that Lee wanted Acme to handle the breach—in order to set us up?” Jack growls.

Ryan shrugs. “Maybe it’s to give you time to prove your own innocence before the super soldiers have a chance to create more chaos.”
 

“I don’t get it. What are you trying not to say here?” I ask.

Ryan rolls his eyes. “What I’m trying very hard not to say is that these things fit around anyone’s ankle—even Arnie’s and Emma’s.”

Jack frowns. “Do you mean…”
 

“I think Ryan is also trying to say that I’m jonesing to beat my record for how quickly I can divert the signal on a couple of ankle monitor locks so that you can prove your innocence,” Arnie cuts in.

I wave toward the window. “The Feds have us under surveillance, don’t they? Didn’t they see you enter with Ryan?”

“Arnie and Emma used the secret tunnel,” Ryan explains.

When we rebuilt our house, we recreated the tunnel Carl had built under our original Hilldale home—sadly, something we had to blow up the last time we went on the lam.
 

Ah, well. On the upside, the entertainment flow in this newer house on the same lot is much nicer, and the tunnel is now even longer. Renovations add so much to a home’s resale value.

I gave Ryan the tunnel’s coordinates and the code to enter on the other side, in case there was an emergency. This certainly qualifies as one.
 

“Why leave? All the leads are cold,” I point out.
 

“Acme now knows where the super soldier encampment is based, thanks to Emma’s sharp eyes in following Carl’s trail,” Ryan counters.

“Where is it?” Jack asks.
 

“Santa Monica. They’ve taken over an abandoned hotel property on the south side of the Promenade Mall,” Ryan replies.

“Doesn’t it help make our case to the DOJ that we aren’t involved by staying put?” I ask. “If Reynolds finds out we’re gone, things only get worse. I can’t take care of my family while I’m serving a life sentence for murder.”

“Donna, the Quorum neutralized you so that you wouldn’t stand in its way.” Emma takes my hand. “Something is going down in the next twenty-four hours. And if it does, you’ll still be implicated unless you can prove your innocence.”

Jack nods. She makes a good point.
 

“What do we know about it?” I ask.

“Some of our field agents doing deep cover in some of the domestic hate groups have reconnaissance of a big powwow going down today. The Quorum is leading—and I use this term lightly—a ‘conference’ on how to use social media to recruit emotionally isolated lone wolves to their cause.” Ryan frowns. “Even more importantly, it’s offering financial aid to any and all cash-strapped terrorist cells. I’m sure there is a bigger ulterior motive—some quid pro quo that we don’t yet know”—his eyes move to me—“until we go in and find out. Better yet, we could stop it in its tracks.”

“It won’t be easy to infiltrate the convention,” I warn them. “What if I run into my doppelganger while she’s with others who can vouch for her?”

“If you’re alone with her, ideally, you’ll apprehend her. In any regard, she won’t recognize you. If they can create a fake Donna, we can create a couple of fake terrorists.” Ryan reaches for the briefcase at his feet. He pulls out two dossiers, opening them to the pictures inside. “These two less-than-upstanding citizens are on the FBI’s Most Wanted list. They are also around the same height and weight of you and Jack.”
 

“Abu and Dominic apprehended them a couple of hours ago as they were on their way to the Quorum’s Terror-Con,” Emma adds.

The man has sharper features than Jack’s, a scar on his right cheek, and light brown hair. I stare down at the face of a woman with high cheekbones and striking brown eyes, with an aquiline nose. She could be Middle Eastern in descent, despite the fact that her dark hair has gold highlights; she is in fashionable Prada and heels, and isn’t wearing a scarf or hijab. “What’s her story?”

“Rima Kouhri is American born, and of Syrian descent. She recruits teen girls to join jihadist camps,” Emma explains. “Jack’s cover is that of an Neo-Confederate extremist named Clem Odum.”

Ryan pulls something else out of his briefcase: a clear acrylic box containing a latex mask of Rima’s face. He tosses it to me, then Clem’s facemask at Jack.
 

I laugh. “Talk about old school!”

Arnie hands us each a another, but smaller acrylic box. “There are also fingerprint tips that will verify your new identities. We’ve added their cornea scans to your WiFi contact lenses. And par for the course, you’ll be on audio bud. You’ll also find a dozen GPS disks in there. If you get close enough to a prime target, tag them with it. That way, if we lose their trail, we can pick it up again.”
 

Jack laughs. “You’ve thought of everything. For the first time in my life, I pray the Feds don’t raid the joint, or we’ll all end up in some black sight.”

“All the more reason this mission must succeed. With a possible mole in the West Wing, if you fail, POTUS must disavow knowledge of your disappearance.”

“In other words, ghost protocol. No surprise there.” Jack shrugs. “Always thinking of his own skin, first and foremost.”

“On the other hand, if you succeed, you save Operation Hercules, redeeming your reputations and that of Acme’s.”

“Not to mention Lee Chiffray’s,” Jack mutters.

Emma catches me wincing. Realizing it’s time to change the subject, she adds, “You’ll be joining Abu and Dominic, who are already in at Terror-Con.” Saying the name puts a smirk on her face. “I’ve put the hotel security cams on a benign loop. All morning long, while the conventioneers listen to Carl and Company’s song and dance, I’ve been leading them through conventioneers’ rooms with no hot spots in order to tag suitcases with these disks. That way, the Feds will be able track them to their home bases for further reconnaissance that will put them behind bars.”

“However, the moment you’re inside the hotel, they’ll be put on alert to provide any necessary backup.” Ryan hands us two more photos. “Memorize these faces too, so you know what Dominic and Abu look like now. They’re disguised as brothers who run an Aryan supremacy cell in Manhattan.”
 

He hands us photos of our teammates. They could pass for twins: both blue-eyed, with white-blond hair. The look isn’t much of a stretch for Dominic, but for Abu, the transformation is striking.

I smirk, “Talk about brothers from another mother.”

Ryan nods toward Jean-Pierre. “You’ll need someone on the outside. Jean-Pierre will be your getaway driver.”

Jack shakes his head. “No way! If he’s implicated in our escape, he’ll get deported!”
 

“Worse yet, if the Quorum gets suspicious of him, he’ll get killed,” I add.

Jean-Pierre shakes his head. “I insist on helping! It is my only chance to find Gigi, and help her escape. It’s why I came here. Monsieur Clancy understands.”

I’ve no doubt Jean-Pierre is right. Ryan suffered the loss of his wife and spent a lifetime regretting it. He’d do what he could to help Jean-Pierre avoid the loss of another dear friend at all costs.

“So that Jean-Pierre will be where you need him at all times, he’s also been given field gear, including undetectable earbuds and WiFi lenses,” Ryan adds. “In the meantime, Arnie will hack Gordon’s computer for his security feed, which should provide us with the identity of his real killer, and clear Jack of any wrongdoing. Emma and I will handle the mission from this end. Once we locate and exfiltrate Donna’s twin, she’ll be in the clear.”
 

“Got it.” I turn to Arnie. “I need your help on another matter.”

He declares, “Sure, name it.”

“Trisha claims she’s seeing a ghost—Carl’s in fact. To see if she’s imagining it, Jeff set up a webcam in her room. Well guess what? He caught him—at least, we think it’s him.”

Arnie opens his mouth, but before he can ask, I interject, “Don’t go there. Sure, it looked like a ghost, but something was off. I just can’t believe it’s real! Are you up to proving me right”—I wince—“or wrong?”

“You bet!” Arnie heads toward the kitchen “Let me talk with my little ghost-busting partner—”