The Housewife Assassin's Fourth Estate Sale

by Josie Brown

  “But in the past Lee has covered up for Babette,” I’ve point out.

  “That doesn’t have to come out in your conversation,” Jack points out. “When you bring up Babette’s duplicity, he is just as likely to express his frustration with it without admitting that he was aware of it beforehand. That way, you’ve done what was requested of you. It’s all he can ask of you.”

  “Before tossing me in jail,” I grumble.

  “Not to worry, hon. While you’re serving your twenty years without parole, I’ll whip the kids into shape. Mary’s already a great cook, and Trisha actually enjoys doing laundry—”

  I snort so loudly that he puts his hand over my mouth so that we don’t wake the rest of the house.

  I lick his palm. As expected, he lets go.

  What he doesn’t expect is for me to pull him closer. When our lips meet, he is just as hungry for me as I am for him.

  Our familiarity with each other’s bodies allows for shortcuts to pleasure. Tonight, however, our lovemaking is deliberate. Why forego the surge of anticipation? Why miss out on the chance to be tantalized yet again with one or more memorable sensations? Suppose he thrusts deeper, or I clench tighter? If the appreciative gasp is worth it, why rush to achieve the inevitable rush of bliss?

  The ferocity of our love shows itself in many ways. I rejoice in my husband’s touch. I revel in his adoration. I am always in awe of his thoughtfulness.

  I live for our passion.

  But love cannot survive without trust. It is his greatest gift to me.

  We won’t talk further about this issue. He leaves it solely up to me.

  By dawn, I know exactly what I must do. I slip out of bed in order to dress quietly in the bathroom before leaving the house. I’ll be gone the whole day.

  When Jack wakes, he will see the text I sent:

  It is, simply, a heart.

  17

  Man on the Street

  Usually identified by the acronym, “MOS,” the phrase “Man on the Street” refers to a reporter who is on location in order to get off-the-cuff sound bites and genuine reactions to the story from members of the public. Another term for this is “vox populi,” that is, “voice of the people.”

  There are times when a wife and mother would prefer not to hear public opinion. Like, say, when your toddler throws a fit in the grocery store because you won’t allow him to have a candy bar.

  No matter what you say to reason with him, eventually his screaming is going to have heads turning to observe you and your little hellion. If you aren’t yet chastising him into silence, you are viewed as inconsiderate of the other shoppers. On the other hand, if you threaten him, either verbally or with bodily harm, your threats may become GIFs that embarrass you on social media or perhaps gives the local Child Services department a reason to knock on your door.

  Solution: Next time, leave him at home with Daddy. That way, you can do your shopping in peace.

  Unless some other tired toddler is cranky enough to throw a tizzy fit.

  It is human nature to crane one’s neck for a better view of the ruckus. Just be glad that, this time, you’re not the entertainment.

  I can only imagine Lee’s surprise when, on his private cell phone, he receives a text from “the New York Public Library” telling him that his loan of the Tom Clancy book, Executive Orders, is about to expire tomorrow. This is our signal to meet in the Manhattan penthouse apartment, owned by a GWI subsidiary.

  As per our agreed-upon protocol, I’ve preceded him to his beautiful pied-à-terre, located in a modern condominium building, towering high above the Hudson River overlooking the Battery Park Esplanade.

  I enter via the back entrance off an alley. By tapping the correct six-digit code into the keypad that summons the express elevator, I am immediately whisked into the penthouse’s foyer.

  With its golden walls, marble floors, intricately carved molding, and silk brocade appointments I could be in the Hermitage Palace, the home of Russia’s notorious empress, Catherine the Great.

  As I walk through this massive home, I suddenly realize: This is not Lee’s style, but Babette’s.

  Catherine successfully conspired, and succeeded, in overthrowing her estranged husband, Peter III.

  Yes, I am struck by the irony.

  I spend the next couple of hours prepping myself for what I will say to Lee.

  He arrives in time to join me at the picture window just as the sun is setting over the river.

  As always, his Secret Service detail stays in the hall, silent and uneasy sentries to yet another mysterious assignation in this secret sanctuary of the man they are sworn to protect.

  As the White House’s living ghosts, they are already privy to the scuttlebutt surrounding the Special Counsel’s investigation. If they believe he is guilty, they must wonder if our meetings are relevant to the charges. Should he not be cleared, then certainly they will be relieved when these rendezvous are no longer on Lee’s agenda. Their loyalty is to the office, not the man.

  As is mine.

  I don’t turn around when he enters. I don’t want him to see that I have been crying.

  I have good reason. Until now I’ve never been forced to betray him.

  I’ve convinced myself it is why I’m here.

  Through me, he now has the opportunity to redeem himself.

  If he allows me, I will be his savior.

  He walks up beside me. “This is a surprise.”

  “And I’m sure it couldn’t have come at a worse time.” I pivot to face him. “Hellzapoppin’, eh?”

  “Something like that.” Lee shrugs. “Reynolds won’t find what he’s looking for.”

  “Yes, he will, and with Babette’s help.”

  Lee eyes me sharply. “How do you know?”

  “Because I was subpoenaed.”

  “You told him about her?” Each word crackles with anger.

  My caustic laugh startles him. “My God, if only I had!”

  “I don’t know if I should be comforted by that,” he growls.

  I shake my head. “You shouldn’t. You vowed to me personally that you’d clean house. You didn’t.”

  “In fact, I am cleaning house. Right now.”

  “So you’re ready to tell Reynolds about Bab—”

  “You mean about the Quorum—and me.” He places his palm between my breasts. Before I have a chance to say anything, he loosens the top button of my blouse.

  Then another.

  I stiffen when his fingers slip through the third button.

  Yes, he sees the tiny audio recorder attached to my bra.

  He nods, resigned. Nonchalantly, he says, “I can’t live with myself anymore. I’m resigning. It’s the only way to get out from the Quorum’s hold on me.”

  Once again, he’s taking the fall for Babette.

  To hell with that! Reynolds needs to hear the truth.

  “You?…and the Quorum?” I chuckle, as if his statement is some ludicrous joke. “But the Quorum is—”

  “It’s a scourge on our world!” Lee shakes his head, warning me to play along. “And on our political system. You know well enough that I’m not the only Washington politician or for that matter, head of state who’s been tainted by it. With me out of the White House, I finally cut the tentacles it has around the neck of our country.”

  He’s right. Once he’s out of power, Babette is too.

  “It will still be well-financed,” I counter. “Thanks to Jonah’s death, Babette was left with enough money to fund the Quorum through several lifetimes.”

  “I’ll be giving that information to the Special Counsel. Its endgame isn’t just my corruption. For the good of the world, the international intelligence community must wipe the Quorum off the face of the earth.”

  He’s right. And if it means sacrificing his presidency, he’s willing to do so.

  Lee has never let me down.

  I stroke his cheek with my palm.

  He takes my hand. After kissing it, he
mouths, Goodbye.

  My smile is weak, but I nod, then I form the words, For now.

  As always Lee leaves first.

  I wait several hours before doing the same. When I slip out, I make sure that my face is never captured on security cameras. I’ve been here often enough to have devised a lock-proof surveillance avoidance strategy.

  The device I wore records conversations. It does not transmit them. Although my escape route takes me away from the Battery Park Esplanade, on impulse I circle back around to it.

  This time of night I’m the only living soul on the path. I pull the recorder out of my jeans’ pocket and stare down at it. Had Lee said what I’d hoped for, I’d be catching the next plane to D.C., collecting a brownie point from a man who lives to make my life miserable. But since Lee has already made up his mind that he’s taking the fall for Babette anyway, it’s of no use to me.

  More to the point, it’s no use to Lee.

  I toss it as far as I can. A moment later, I hear a plop as it breaks the water’s surface.

  I care too much for Lee to be the one to put the noose around his neck.

  18

  Leading Questions

  When conducting an interview, it is not unusual for a reporter to steer an interviewee in a particular direction, or toward a desired response. This is done through what are called “leading questions.” Sometimes this is necessary if the respondent is close-lipped and giving just yes-and-no answers. (BORING!)

  You too can use this technique whenever you find yourself in a situation in which you’re not getting the response you seek.

  For example, don’t ask, “Were you out last night with another woman?” because that is sure to get you an emphatic “No!” Which may or may not be the truth. Instead, ask, “Where did you find that plug-ugly woman with whom you spent the night?”

  The interviewee may be shocked enough to retort, “Who says she’s ugly?” This informs you that he thinks otherwise. It also validates that he never came home. And if he actually answers with, say, “I picked her up at Smitty’s Bar during happy hour,” you’ve got all the information you need.

  It’s up to you to decide what to do with—or more to the point, do to—your two-timing guy.

  Something tells me that whatever it is won’t be fit to print.

  It’s D-Day. In this case, the D stands for deposition.

  Jack and I have been placed in separate alcoves, and under the watch of government agents. We are waiting for our turn to give testimony in the Special Counsel’s investigation.

  Ryan already inside the federal grand jury chambers. Reynolds isn’t the prosecutor. It is another member of his prosecutorial team: a woman by the name of Tala Karami.

  “She’s Sunni Muslim from Lebanon,” Emma informs us. Although we aren’t supposed to hear each others’ testimony, our earbuds allow us to do so just like our lenses take in the chamber’s video feed.“She graduated Harvard Law, first in her class. Edited Harvard Review. Clerked under Justice Kagan before she reached the Supreme Court. Tala has made a career of investigating and prosecuting terrorists.

  “She’s also quite stunning,” Dominic comments. “Very tall, beautiful high cheekbones. Long dark hair.”

  Should he get called on the stand, I hope he doesn’t dare ask her if the carpet matches the drapes.

  Before proceeding the grand jury, court clerk, bailiff, and recorder are asked to step out because they lack national security clearance to be privy to the testimony. After the court is cleared, we again hear the voice of Tala Karami.

  “How long have you been investigating the terrorist organization known as the Quorum?” Tala asks Ryan.

  “For over eleven years. Not only at the behest of the U.S. intelligence community, but for our allies’ agencies as well,” Ryan replies.

  “What does the Quorum do, exactly?”

  “For the most part, it finances terrorism all over the world. However, it also recruits assassins and covert operatives for specific assignments that include but are not limited to exterminations, drug running, slavery, arms dealing, corporate and state intelligence theft, and of course, money laundering.”

  Ryan then goes on to explain the role that Acme’s government-sanctioned covert operations has played in uncovering the Quorum’s existence; tracing its society-shattering crimes against humanity; tracking its financial sources; identifying its operatives (he leaves out the part of our role in their exterminations); and stopping many of its terrorist schemes.

  “Have your operations led you to believe that the Quorum has had dealings with anyone within the executive branch?” Tala asks.

  Ryan pauses, then answers, “Over time, Acme discovered a money trail between the Quorum and Breck Industries. The company was eventually acquired by Global World Industries, the international corporation that is now being held in trust for President Chiffray.”

  “Breck Industries produces military weaponry and ammunition, does it not?”

  “Yes. And most of its other businesses not tied to the arms industry were used to launder its black market sales.”

  “Had the sale of Breck Industries to GWI taken place prior to President Chiffray’s tenure in the White House?” Tala asks.

  “Yes.”

  “Had Acme discovered if President Chiffray was aware of Breck Industries connection with the Quorum prior to the purchase?”

  “He was not aware of it,” Ryan replies.

  “How do you know this?” Tala questions. “Was it Acme who informed him?”

  “No.”

  “Do you have knowledge of who told him?”

  “He divulged that information to one of our operatives,” Ryan admits. “Carl Stone told him. Mr. Stone later became Director of U.S. Intelligence.”

  The judge grimaces at this revelation.

  “Was President Chiffray already in the White House when Carl Stone shared this information with him?”

  After a pause, Ryan answers, “Yes, but Mr. Stone did so prior to being appointed DIO. In fact, he used it to blackmail the president for the position.”

  This time the judge’s eyes open wide.

  Assistant Prosecutor Karami declares, “That will be all, Mr. Clancy. But I reserve the right to call you back on the stand if further clarification is needed.”

  The next thing we hear is her proclaiming, “I’d now like to call Jack Craig to the stand, your Honor.”

  I’m sure that, like me, Ryan is tuned in to Jack’s testimony.

  Tala’s first question is simple enough: “You were assigned the position of team leader for the mission of tracking the Quorum, were you not?”

  “Yes,” Jack says. “That was ten years ago, a few months after the supposed assassination of the Acme operative who had infiltrated the organization: Carl Stone.”

  “How long did it take Acme to realize that Mr. Stone was in fact very much alive?”

  “We became aware of it around five years ago,” Jack replies. “One of Acme’s operatives was exterminated in Hungary. The assassins were caught on camera. One was Carl.”

  Jack doesn’t mention that the other was his wife, Valentina, who disappeared just before Carl. She too was presumed dead when an alias assigned to her showed up on the manifest of a plane lost at sea.

  “Stone’s former wife, Donna, is also an Acme operative, isn’t she?”

  “She wasn’t at the time. She was recruited within a year of his disappearance.”

  “By you?”

  “No. By Mr. Clancy. He felt she was…highly motivated.”

  “You didn’t agree?”

  “Not at first. She proved me wrong.”

  “In fact, she’s proven to be quite effective in covert operations, hasn’t she? Both as an assassin and a honey pot, is that not correct?”

  Jack’s pause is much too long. At least he hasn’t leaped up and throttled her for that remark, so all is good. Finally, he mutters, “Yes. Among other things.”

  “And when Carl Stone resurfaced, he first
approached her, didn’t he?”

  “Yes. Acme had intercepted intel that the Quorum was planning a terrorist attack that was to take place in the Los Angeles metro area. Once Acme knew he was alive, we felt certain that Carl’s knowledge of L.A. would put him on the mission. If so, he might use it as an excuse to check up on her. To encourage this, Acme planted an agent in her home who pretended to be Carl. The plan worked. When he heard Donna was ‘playing house’ with someone using his name, he was angry enough to check it out.”

  “You played Carl Stone.”

  He nods.

  Tala demands, “For the record, please answer.”

  “Yes. I took the name Carl Stone.”

  “You are now married to the former Mrs. Stone, aren’t you?”

  “I’m a very lucky man, yes.” I blush when I hear the pride with which Jack states his feelings for me.

  “Was Mrs. Stone forthcoming with Acme about her reunion with the real Carl Stone?”

  Jack sighs. Then, warily, “Not immediately. Needless to say, his appearance was a shock to her. He tried to convince her that he’d spent five years in deep cover so that he could prove I was a double-agent and in fact leading the terrorist act to take place in Los Angeles.”

  “Acme was able to stop the attack, but Mr. Stone escaped, correct?”

  “Yes. Donna shot and wounded him, but he killed a med tech on the way to the emergency room and got away. He resurfaced sometime later as part of the security detail accompanying then Russian Prime Minister Alexei Asimov to a summit hosted by the industrialist Jonah Breck. This gave him immunity from prosecution.”

  “Breck was eventually killed by Mr. Stone, am I right?”

  “Yes. Breck was one of the Quorum’s twelve leaders until Acme took possession of intel validating that he was selling WMDs to hostile nations. Russia traded slaves for some of their purchases.”