The Housewife Assassin's Killer App (9 page)

Or I could slam him up against the wall and twist his nutsack so hard and for so long that he could spend the rest of his life touring as the lead in
Jersey Boys
.

But then I remember that neither of these acts will help me achieve my long-term goals. (Goal Number 1, Carl back in Gitmo; Fallback position, full custody of our kids.)
 

Through gritted teeth, I hiss, “Despite your untoward manhandling, for the good of the country I’m willing to set our personal issues aside during my stay here in DC. This national emergency deserves our mutual attempts at professional respect, not to mention a modicum of graciousness”—I extend my olive branch: the brownies—“so, here.”

I hope you choke on them, asshole.
 

He eyes the box suspiciously. “What’s that, an unpinned grenade?”

I shove it hard, into his gut. “Just—open it!”
 

He’s weighing the odds that he may be right. Since I’m not inching toward the door, I guess he figures I’m not a suicide bomber. Slowly, he pulls the ribbon and opens the lid.

“Hmmm.” He nods, but by the way his eyes narrow, I can tell he’s still not sure I’m on the up and up. “Let me guess—they’re poisoned.”

I take one and cram it into my mouth. Through chewy chocolate and dense butterscotch, I mutter, “Convwoinced nowww?”
 

He shrugs. “How do I know the poisoned ones aren’t buried in the middle somewhere?”

Okay, he’s got me there. I would have asked him the same question. I gulp down the rest of the brownie. “Go ahead, pick one—any one.”

He looks down into the box. Finally, he plucks one out of the center, in the bottom row, and hands it to me.

I cram it into my mouth. “Thewrre!” I’m choking, but I’ve got a point to prove:
 

My baking never killed anyone—

By that I mean, no one I hadn’t meant to eliminate, and proudly without a trace of evidence.

“Point taken. Just the same, I’ll pass. No offense, doll, but…well, some of us are better than others at resisting unwanted calories.” As his eyes sweep over my backside, he brushes one of my spewed crumbs off the front of his suit jacket.
 

How dare he!

“It’s all part of the new me,” he continues. “I exercise, I eat right—I revel in clean, healthy living.”
 

“Right. Does this mean you’re no longer looking to rule the world through terror, blackmail, and mayhem?”

He laughs heartily. “Quit being so melodramatic.”

“I beg your pardon?” I lift a hand, so that I can count on my fingers. “You almost blew up a stadium full of children. You tried to shoot down Air Force One. You targeted thirteen international cities for missile launches. You slaughtered a baker’s dozen of your Quorum homies, as well as the Federal agents interrogating them—Oh! And let’s not forget that you assassinated the spouse of a presidential candidate—”

“Yada, yada, yada. That’s so last year.” With a whisk of his hand, Carl swats away my contentions as if they were wayward flies attempting three-point landings on the sticky ointment of his fantasy life. “Now that I’ve gone legit, what say we let bygones be bygones?”

“Ha! If, by that, you mean playing husband and wife, you can forget it.”

“Don’t be so full of yourself.” He snorts raucously. “I’m having too much fun as a single man.”

“From what I hear, marriage never dampened your sexual appetites, either.”

He shrugs. “You know the game we play for God and country—”

“And libido.” I shake my head in mock wonder. “Cut the bullshit. As for joint custody, forget it. I’d prefer you’d stay out of our children’s lives, if only for the fact that you’re a terrorist—”

“Despite your never-ending attempts to sully my reputation, I was cleared on all counts. It’s why I hold down this nifty little government gig, or have you forgotten that?”

“As I remember, the reason you’re even in this office is because you’re blackmailing the president.”

His eyes narrow. “Is that what he’s told you?”

“Yes. And, Earth to Carl: I have no reason to question it.”

He smirks. “You’ve always been a lousy judge of character.”

“Duh! Our marriage was proof of that,” I mutter under my breath.
 

“Truth be told, Lee begged me to take the position. File it under the heading, ‘Keep your friends close, and your enemies closer.’” A smirk rises on his lips. “My God, Donna, who do you think headed the Quorum in the first place?”
 

I rummage in my purse for my miniature travel mirror. When I find it, I point it at him.
 

“Well, you’re wrong. Lee Chiffray was the last of the men who underwrote the organization’s initial financing. Granted, his vision was more altruistic than the rest of them. He thought that buying off terrorists might be a smarter move than financing them. You know, sort of like paying farmers to not plant surplus crops. But, the fact of the matter is, he had no qualms at all in hiring me to initiate a very final, and very fatal, exit strategy for his twelve partners. To start with a clean slate, as it were.”

“I don’t believe you.”
 

“No? Don’t take my word for it. Catherine Martin will back me up.”

“As if I’d believe her! After what she did to Robert—”

“You’re still holding a torch for your old crush, aren’t you?”

“Don’t be silly, Carl. Robert was a childhood friend.”

“And I was your husband. Remember?” His eyes sweep over me, as if in search of something—anything still alive from the past we shared.
 

“Yes, you were—that is, until you left us by pretending to be a corpse. Carl, if you really care about the kids, you’ll honor the fact that they already have a father who’s totally devoted to them.”

Hearing this, his smile wavers. Still, he holds his game face. “Ah, yes, your rebound mistake—the unwavering Mr. Craig. Awesome. Should I find myself in need of a manny, I’ll know whom to call.”
 
Carl feigns a glance over my shoulder. “Speaking of your guard dog, don’t tell me he agreed to letting you come into this lion’s den alone!”
 

“Jack…isn’t part of the audit team.” I meant to say this as nonchalantly as possible, but I have a feeling he noticed that Jack’s name got stuck in my throat.

“I see. Well, that’s certainly a step in the right direction.” An eyebrow arches in anticipation.

“Don’t read too much into it, Carl. It was Jack’s decision, not mine.”

“Even better! Now I can have you all to myself—”

Seeing the anger flare in my eyes, he quickly adds, “—If only to convince you that I mean you and the children no harm.” He leans against the wall, as if the wind has been knocked out of him. “I don’t want to torture you anymore, Donna. All I want is your approval to share custody of Mary, Jeff, and Trisha. As we both know, I’ve already got the court’s approval.”

I wince at this reality. “And we both know that my children have every right to resent the man who deserted them and their mother. You think that if I’ve forgiven you, they’ll do the same, which is why you want my approval so badly.” I cross my arms at my chest. “What makes you think you’ll ever get it?”

“Because, deep down in your heart, you know I love them too.” His smile disappears. “Look, I know you find this hard to believe, but every event leading up to and since my disappearance was done with the intention of saving you and the kids from danger and…eventual heartache.” His hand reaches out to me. He touches my arm, gently stroking it, as if he doesn’t believe I’m really here, beside him. “I realize you don’t love me anymore. I’ve accepted that, and I’ve moved on.”

“Good to hear.” Seeing the shadow of pain in his eyes, I add gently, “What I meant to say is, we’ve both made our peace with our personal consequences from your actions. Perhaps it’s time we look forward instead of backward.”

“My point exactly! It’s your choice. Do I force the issue in court, or do we come to some sort of amicable agreement, just the two of us?”

“Carl, I really don’t think there’s anything else you can say or do to convince me to change my mind about you staying out of our children’s lives.”

He chucks me under the chin. “That’s exactly my point, hon. I’m not the one who has to do the convincing.”

He’s right. We both know it, unless the Acme audit team finds a hacker’s trail that leads right to this office.

“Damn it, I’m running late to a meeting with the joint chiefs and your most ardent admirer, POTUS. I’ll be sure to give him your best.” He looks down at his watch. “Tell you what, I’ll give you a final chance to convince me—tonight, over dinner in fact, in Georgetown. My assistant, Susan, will give you the address.”

Perfect. A nice meal, in public, just two mature exes working out the final details of their children’s custody.

And if he still insists on following through and ruining their lives, I’ll lace his food with an untraceable poison and blame it on the chef.

I grit my teeth into a smile. “Sure. Say, eight o’clock?”

“Perfect! I’ll be sure to ask Lee if his ears were burning this morning, what with all our dishing. Not to worry, though. I’ll leave him with the right impression—that your devotion to him knows no bounds.”

Once again, Carl is hustling me out the door.
 

And, once again, he pats my ass.

I turn angrily, only to find the door shut firmly behind me.

Even before I ask for it, Susan writes down an address. In fact, she bears down so hard with her pen that she practically shreds the paper.

When she rips it from the pad and hands it to me, there are tears in her eyes.

I can’t get out of there fast enough.

On the way out the door, I text both Arnie and Dominic to meet me in exactly an hour, in Hamlet Park, a short distance from the IC campus. I want to make sure that what I to say to them won’t be overheard. Here, the walls have ears.

Oh, who am I kidding? No matter where we go, we’ll be seen and heard. It’s the new reality of life in the good old U.S. of A.
 

And so, amidst a playground filled with squealing toddlers, barking dogs, and gossiping moms who seem to not have a care in the world, we’ll have a chance to figure out our next move.

“Okay, so what have you got for me?” I snap my fingers to get both Arnie and Dominic’s attention.
 

When I got to Hamlet Park, Dominic was eyeing the toddlers suspiciously. Having just watched one child projectile vomit after a five-minute ride on the swing set, he is spooked by the thought that one of them might run into his arms and do the same all over his new six-thousand-dollar Hardy Amies bespoke suit.
 

In contrast, Arnie practically glows as he watches the children at play. He misses Emma terribly and eagerly awaits the birth of her child.
 

I wish I could say she feels the same, but in truth, she needs some time alone, to process all the changes taking place in her life in such a short period of time.

I’m in the opposite frame of mind. I could do with a large dose of Jack.
 

Arnie sweeps his hand broadly in Dominic’s direction. “Age before beauty.”

Dominic looks up from what he’s doing—entering in the telephone numbers of those women he feels would be, as he puts it, “receptive to a more thorough interrogation on my next visit to DC”—and scowls. “Why, I can’t be more than a month or two older than you!”

Hearing this, the root beer that Arnie is guzzling spews up through his nose.

In my sweetest voice, I murmur, “I’m sure all Arnie meant by that is that he doesn’t mind at all if you go first.”

Grudgingly, Dominic nods. “As Arnie will soon detail for you, the vulnerability affected two relatively new programs that are part of the RTTI, or Rapid Technology Transition Initiative.”

“What do they do, exactly?” I ask.

“One of the programs provides continuous diagnostic and mitigation capabilities, protecting the IC’s IT network from all the cyber threats it receives daily,” Arnie explains. “The other program controls the LNI—the Library of National Intelligence. It’s a virtual card catalogue offering access to at least 10 million analytic products. For example, the FBI’s Biometric QuickCapture Platform program is on it.”

“What form did the vulnerability take?”

Arnie frowns. “In this case, it was malware that released a virus. Happens quite often, in fact. Over the past six years, the number of incidents reported by federal agencies has increased by nearly seven hundred percent. In fact, if the Mad Hacker’s calling cards hadn’t been found, the virus would have never been revealed. Interestingly enough, the virus had been planted at least a month prior to the Hacker’s clues revealing themselves.”

“That’s odd,” I murmur. “Why re-enter, just to leave footprints when you’re already well clear of the crime scene?”

Arnie nods. “My point exactly. As for this specific incident, whereas many of the files were accessed, only one file in the LNI was completely erased.”

“Which one?” I ask.

Arnie’s brows furrow into two fuzzy caterpillars. “Something called Operation Clark Kent.”