by Josie Brown
We bury Mary in a hug between us.
This time, she doesn’t pull away.
If only we could stay in this clinch forever.
But we can’t. We’re out the door again.
Maybe this time we won’t have to run so far, or so fast.
I’ve never seen Arnie drunk.
It is not a pretty sight.
Jack holds up the two empty bottles of Guinness Stout. “How many ounces are in five hundred milliliters?"
“He’s kind of busy here,” I yell at him. I’m making sure Arnie doesn’t fall into the toilet as he barfs into it.
“Approximately seventeen and a quarter ounces,” Arnie rasps.
I’ve held many a head over a commode, but none that were cognizant enough to attempt math conversions. I guess that’s what happens when you hang with frat boys from UCLA as opposed to MIT Comp Sci dropouts.
“Arnie, you’ve got to snap out of it! We need you, now more than ever.” Jack lifts him up from under his armpits.
Wrong move. Arnie throws up again, only this time it’s on Jack’s brand new John Lobb brogues.
As Jack lets loose with gusto on some choice swear words, I aim Arnie back over the toilet and hold his head there until he stops heaving.
Finally, he raises his head again. “You don’t understand. It’s Emma! She’s… she’s…” he chokes on his words.
Or on whatever bile is crawling up his throat.
As he bends down over the commode to rid himself of it, I murmur, “Arnie, I know.”
“What? You mean, she told you?” The puking stops, but hyperventilating takes its place.
Jack grabs a greasy, half-filled fish-and-chips bag, and empties its contents into a trash can. He hands it to Arnie, who takes deep breaths into it.
When Arnie pulls his face out of the bag, his cheeks and nose are covered in grease.
Now I think I’m going to barf. I swallow hard. “Emma felt she had to tell someone. She’s so ashamed of herself.” I pat his arm. “Arnie, she’s worried about losing you.”
He lifts his head, but he doesn’t say anything. It will take a while before the color returns to his cheeks.
Or a smile to his lips.
He points to the scripts on the table. “I better get started.”
Jack hesitates before picking them up. “Look, if you’re not up to the task, we certainly understand. We can wait until tomorrow.”
“No you can’t. Donna’s right. There’s still a chance that Carl will recognize her from the camera footage. The sooner I decipher this intel, the quicker Ryan can backchannel it to his contacts at MI6, and the sooner you’ll get your diplomatic immunity,” he says, as he sticks out his hands.
Jack lays the scripts in them.
We’ve just reached the door when someone knocks. Jack peeks out from a corner of the window’s curtain before opening the door—
To Emma.
Seeing her, Arnie bends back over the toilet and heaves again.
This is too much for Emma. She tears up.
Worse yet, she runs to the trash can and throws up.
“Oh great,” Jack mutters. “Now they’re barfing in stereo.”
We stand silently until both of them can sit upright again.
When they do, Emma whispers, “Arnie, I know you’ll never forgive me for how stupid I was, or for what I’ve done. But I want you to know, from the bottom of my heart, that I didn’t mean to hurt you, or to upset you, and that I’m ashamed of myself for falling for a pretty face when…when the love of my life has been right at my side, all along.”
Arnie still can’t look at her.
When she bows her head, her tears fall into her lap.
He can’t see this. He can’t hear this. But when exposed, the heart is an organ easily bruised.
Arnie’s heart, however, was never really his. It always belonged to Emma, and hers to him.
So yes, he feels her heart breaking.
It is more than he can bear. This time when he heaves, it’s to expel his grief, and to inhale the hope she extends his way.
This is obvious to me, and now to her, too, when he says, “I’ll always love you, Emma. And I’ll always be a part of your life, if you let me.”
This is all she needs to hear to be at his side, to drop into his lap, and to kiss him as if it’s the last kiss they’ll share.
There will be so many more.
Jack’s eye catches mine. He winks at me, then nods towards the door. As tender as this moment is for these two who we love and respect, the bottom line is that we are under the gun, figuratively and, perhaps soon, literally as well.
We’ve reached the door when Emma says, “Wait! Don’t go! I came looking for you! I’ve got some really wonderful news!”
She slips her iPad out of her bag and beckons us over.
By the time we reach her side, what she wants us to see is already on her tablet’s screen: the website admin panel for IslandOfMisfitSluts.com—the pornography website previously an asset of Breck Global Industries, which used to be owned by Babette Chiffray’s first husband, Jonah, now deceased.
I stare at the screen. “Wasn’t that site taken down after Chiffray’s Global World Industries bought Breck’s corporate holdings?”
“I thought so, too,” Emma explains. “But then I did a little research and discovered it was spun off from the umbrella corporation prior to the sale of the trust.” She pushes another button to open another page on the screen. “From what you can see in its Google analytics, the site is certainly thriving. Whoever owns it now is still making a ton of dough from it. Of course, the owner info is masked.”
“Why is this important to us?” Jack asks.
“The site showcases thumbnail photos and fake profiles on the women held captive there. I scanned the faces until I found those of Antoinette and Serena, who were there in the bedroom with Breck the day he was killed. And guess what? The women are still featured!”
She clicks onto the thumbnail photo of Antoinette. Now I feel queasy. I still remember the look on her face when Carl put a bullet in her.
“I remembered Breck had video cameras set up in all the bedrooms of his compound on the island, so that he could record his sexual peccadillos with the women he held captive there, and those of his guests,” Emma continues. “So I sifted through the video files and came up with this.”
She opens a seemingly innocuous file labeled with a long string of numbers. Yes, there it is: the video footage of Jonah Breck’s bedroom. In the clip, I enter it and raise a gun to Jonah, commanding him off the bed, where he’s raping Antoinette. The camera picks up Carl, coming in behind me. I turn. He shoots—
But the bullet isn’t for me. It hits Breck squarely in the forehead.
Carl’s next bullet is for Antoinette.
“This clears you, Donna. Best yet, it implicates Carl,” Jack murmurs. “We can go home now.”
Arnie kisses Emma on the forehead. “Great work, little mama.”
She frowns. “I think you can come up with a better nickname.”
Arnie gets down on one knee. “How about Mrs. Locklear?”
Emma looks down at him. She is smiling through her tears.
She’s also upchucking.
Ah, morning sickness! I remember you well.
Arnie’s stomach can’t take it. He joins in the fun.
Jack smiles. “They make beautiful music together, don’t they?”
I nod. “Let’s leave these two lovebirds alone.”
“Jack, wait,” Arnie gasps. “Before you leave, I’ve got a present for you, too.”
He pulls a thumb drive from his pocket and tosses it to Jack.
“What is it?” I ask.
Arnie smiles. “Thanks to Jack’s quick thinking this morning, it’s just another nail in Carl’s coffin—his admission to you, on the Metro, that he headed the Quorum.”
Jack’ turns to me. He’s no longer smiling. “So, it was Carl you slipped out to meet, the night we were in D
C.”
I guess I’ve got some explaining to do.
“All this time, you knew I’d gone out—but you never asked me why?” Neither of us spoke the whole way back to our bungalow. But now that we are alone in our bedroom I’m doing my best to prove the theory that the best defense is a good defense.
“When you nudged me awake with your cold feet, I suspected you’d left the bed while I slept.” The memory puts a slight smile on his face. “But I talked myself out of it. Then yesterday I remembered it was the same afternoon you got the text message you claimed was from Jeff, asking if he could stay up to watch the Broncos game. If he had called, he was lying to you because the Broncos were eliminated prior to the AFC playoffs.”
I scowl. “And you would have said nothing, despite knowing he lied to his mother?”
“Jeff’s shenanigans are harmless, compared to his mother’s. If the Broncos were in the playoffs, he would have known it. On the other hand, considering your distaste for all things pigskin, I guessed—and rightly so—that you wouldn’t.” He shrugs. “If you were lying about the call, I felt I had a right to know why. I mean, it isn’t as if you’ve ’fessed up in the meantime.”
Guilty as charged.
I sit down next to him. “I was told to come alone. I had hoped to change Carl’s mind about ruining Acme. As it turns out, I only made matters worse. Carl demanded the kids and I move to DC to be with him. Otherwise he’d fix it so that we’d both be tried for his terrorist crimes, and that Ryan and other Acme agents would also take the blame. I told him no, that I’d never leave you. He almost had me killed, but I escaped.”
He takes my hand. “I’m sorry you went through that ordeal. But maybe some good will come out of it.” He grins. “This morning I had the bright idea of asking Arnie to track the GPS coordinates for your cell that evening. He noticed it ended when you reached the L’Enfant Plaza Metro Station.” He holds up the thumb drive. “Now that he’s hacked the Metro’s onboard webcam feed, I guess we’ll be able to pass along verification of your account with our new president.”
Jack inserts the thumb drive into his computer. While the feed plays, he watches intently, but I have to avert my eyes when it gets to the part where Carl molests me.
When it ends, Jack forwards it to Ryan via a secure cloud, then turns off his computer.
I’m crying so hard when he takes me in his arms that I can’t breathe. I start to hiccup.
“Hold your breath,” he says, while patting me gently on the back.
I try, but my hiccups come fast and furious.
He kisses me, long and hard.
When we break apart, I sigh.
“See? It worked,” he points out.
I pout. “I think they’re coming back.”
He laughs. “You’re such a pretty little liar.”
I stop his chuckle with a kiss of my own. “You know, you never need an excuse to kiss me.”
He takes me at my word.
I take him to our bed.
I undress him slowly. I let him do the same to me.
I tremble under his touch. He grows larger under mine.
I never grow tired of the look of desire I see in his eyes, or the taste of his mouth, or the growl he releases as he enters me.
I crave the feeling of him inside me.
I live for these moments of shared ecstasy.
Afterward, as we lay in each other’s arms, I know where my strength lies:
In him.
Carl should be very afraid.
Chapter 17
The Wizard of Ahs
“Please, sir. We've done what you told us. We brought you the broomstick of the Wicked Witch of the West. We melted her!”
—Judy Garland, as “Dorothy Gale” in The Wizard of Oz
There are a lot of ways in which movies “get it wrong.” For example:
1: Some change in detail slips past the continuity director. The job of this person is to make sure that everything in a particular scene—props, costumes, make-up, hair, lighting, sound—stays the same from take to take. For example, if the actor has a glass in her hand in one scene, but then it disappears after a cutaway to the close-up of someone else, this is a continuity mistake.
2: It includes an “anachronism”—something said, or shown, in the film did not exist during the time in which the film is set. A perfect example of this can be seen in the film, “Monuments Men.” The American flag left flying at the mouth of a mine has fifty stars. In the year in which the story took place, there were only forty-eight states, and therefore only forty-eight stars.
3: The film has a factual error. For example, in the movie “Gravity,” scientists have pointed out some inaccuracies, including the fact that the tear rolling down actress Sandra Bullock’s face would have never floated off because she was in zero gravity. It would have held onto her cheek due to surface tension.
Ah, all the tiny little details that go into producing a movie! No wonder you’d rather watch one than make one.
Besides, you were born to be a critic. Just ask your children.
Lee Chiffray’s secretary assures us the president will be seeing us any moment now. He has only kept Jack, Ryan, and me waiting twenty minutes, which I guess is a good sign, since those being ushered out now are two five-star generals. I recognize them as the heads of the NSA and INR. Both were former clients of Acme, and who have the utmost respect for Ryan.
Or, I should say, had. They scan our faces and then move on.
Lee has taken well to his new digs in the West Wing. Pictures of his new wife and stepdaughter, Babette and Janie, adorn the credenza behind his desk.
Lee moves out from behind his massive desk to shake Ryan’s hand, and Jack’s. I earn a long, adoring glance and a peck on the cheek.
Yes, Jack notices this. His gaze shifts between Lee and me. I wink to signal, no worries! Just being neighborly!
Jack knows differently. Lee and I have a history, sort of. He tried to buy me when I was sold into slavery, on Fantasy Island.
I guess he thought it was the right thing to do. Sure beats mowing a lawn or dropping off a casserole.
I still believe Lee did it in order to buy my freedom, not to keep me as a pet, or a sex slave or anything.
Even before he was POTUS, Lee was considered a catch: as the founder and CEO of Global World Industries, he’s one of the wealthiest men on the planet. While Lee is president, his assets are being held in a blind trust.
Jack has held the belief that GWI is somehow entwined with the Quorum, but he hasn’t been able to verify this. Frankly, I think he’s barking up the wrong tree.
Maybe I just wish that were the case. If Jack’s right, the branches of that tree now reach into the White House.
No matter our past, after today’s meeting, I presume Lee and I also have a future together, although at this very moment, I don’t know exactly what that means.
I guess I’ll soon find out.
He ushers us toward the two large couches in the room, which sit opposite each other. An aide places a coffee service on the table between us. Since we’ve been told we’re only to have, at the most, fifteen minutes of the president’s time, I take this as a good sign. Come on in, set a spell.
Ryan must think differently, because he refuses a cuppa joe in a cup embossed with the presidential seal. “Thank you for taking the time to meet with us, Mr. President. I don’t know if you’ve had time to review the dossier I forwarded to you.”
Lee nods. “In fact, I have. And I agree with Acme’s findings that make an irrefutable case for Jack and Donna to be dropped from the international terrorists list, as well as for Acme’s reinstatement as an approved vendor with the US intelligence community.”
“I can imagine Director Stone isn’t pleased with your decision.” I detect a shadow of a smile on Ryan’s lips. He is relieved to get back the thing that matters most to him: his honor.
“He’ll learn to live with it. More to the point, he knows better than to question it
.” I presume Lee’s grimace is a reflection of his argument with Carl over us. Lee’s been in office less than two months, and yet, already, he looks older than his forty-six years.
Jack leans forward. “We hope you think the other intel we’ve collected from various Quorum hot spots also makes a case for the removal of Carl Stone as DI. Having a known terrorist in your administration will throw the country into chaos, and put our citizens and our national security in harm’s way.”
Lee shrugs. “Based on what I’ve seen, I can understand why you’d feel this way. But Acme’s allegations have yet to be substantiated, despite the CIA’s attempts to do so.”
“It’s no longer just our word against his, Mr. President,” I point out. “Have you reached out to the eye witnesses who were there when Carl committed these atrocities? They can verify our reports.”
“Our agents in those countries have tried. But your sources are now either deceased or have disappeared.” He pulls out the pictures of our witnesses, taken from our video interviews. He points to the one of Roger Cavanaugh. “Mr. Cavanaugh broke his neck while fox hunting.”
A wave of guilt washes over me as I remember running into Sebastian on the morning he met Jack and me at the Railway Inn. Now I realize he hadn’t known Roger at all, but tricked me into dropping his name so that the Quorum could get to him.
Lee frowns as he stares down at the photo of Serena. “And Ms. La Costa, her husband and infant baby were killed by one of the Venezuelan paramilitarycolectivos in one of their door-to-door roundups, just last night.”
“What? But—that can’t be true!” Abu arranged for a private jet to pick them up tonight, in fact.
The guilt hits me: we should have pulled them out sooner.
Ryan catches my eye as if to say, get ahold of yourself.
Lee turns to me. “I wish that were the case, Donna. His finger moves onto the last photo—of Eric Weber. “Mr. Weber has disappeared from his estate. No one has seen him—or any of his staff, for that matter—for the past three days. The place sits empty.”
Jack looks over at me. I know what he’s thinking:
