The Housewife Assassin's Hostage Hosting Tips

by Josie Brown

  “Could he have hitched a ride with one of his friends?” I ask.

  “I don’t think so,” says Evan. “When we got here, he was so excited to find Gabrielle that he left her corsage in your room. I saw him leave the ballroom before the fire alarm went off. I think he left to retrieve it.”

  Noting my worried look, Arnie says, “I’ll check to see if there are any hot dots in your room.” He trots off.

  I pace the floor until he comes back. He also looks worried.

  “What is it?” I ask.

  He looks down at his feet. “There are now nine hot dots in the concierge meeting room, and two hot dots standing near the concierge elevator. I rolled back the footage and noticed a hot dot in the fire escape stairwell. The security feed of the concierge floor confirms what I suspect. It shows him coming out of the stairwell. Tatyana let him onto the floor, and led him into the hostage room.”

  I turn to Jack because I don’t want Mary to see the fear in my eyes.

  “Phyllis, why don’t you take Mary and Evan home?” Jack suggests. I’m glad he’s able to keep his voice calm, almost nonchalant.

  “No,” Mary says adamantly. “I want to stay here, in case…in case Jeff or Mom need me.”

  Evan puts his hand on her shoulder. “I do too,” he says.

  Phyllis puts her hand on his. “Three Musketeers.”

  I swallow hard. “Okay, then, follow me. But once we’re there, you must stay put–no matter what happens.”

  To Jack. To me.

  To Jeff.

  Arnie and Dominic join the Family Stone on the elevator ride to the penthouse suites.

  Lee’s Secret Service man indicates that he is in his bedroom. The door is closed.

  Walther is nervously pacing the floor. When we walk in, he looks up anxiously. Seeing us, he shrugs, but says nothing. I’m glad. If he proclaimed the suite off limits to my family, I’d break his nose.

  For their safety, I place Mary, Evan, and Aunt Phyllis in the other bedroom with strict instructions: “Stay here. Lock this door. No unnecessary sounds! Talk in whispers. Unless it’s Jack, me, Jeff, or President Chiffray, don’t open it to anyone. There’s a bathroom and a mini-bar, so you should be fine.”

  “And no television,” Jack warns them.

  Aunt Phyllis looks over at him, puzzled. “Why not, in heaven’s name?”

  Jack doesn’t break his direct gaze with her. “You have to trust us on this.”

  She must because she doesn’t say another word. Mary and Evan exchange concerned glances.

  We luck out that one of my penthouse’s bedrooms is exactly on top of the concierge meeting room. Arnie makes the necessary settings to the cell phone jammer to reduce and pinpoint the coverage. Afterward, he takes the elevator back to Henry’s office so that he can keep up his reconnaissance.

  When Jack, Dominic, and I walk back through the concierge elevator platform, Lee’s Secret Service man says, "The president would like a word with you."

  When we open Lee’s bedroom door, we are met with sad, sad eyes.

  Lee is sitting on the edge of his bed. His face is drawn. His eyes are glazed. He takes both my hands in his. “Donna, please sit down.”

  No…

  Oh, no…

  God, no.

  Chapter 21

  How to Get Rid of the Guest Who Won’t Leave

  No matter how many broad hints are given, inevitably, one of your guests will overstay his or her welcome. Here’s how to lose the guest, but at the same time, keep the friendship:

  Tip #1: Excuse yourself to put on your pajamas. Nothing says, “Get the hell out of my house” like a woman in a flannel granny gown. (In other words, save the black silk baby doll peignoir for another night.)

  Tip #2: Glance at your watch. Often. Exclaiming, “My, my, it’s getting late” or “I have such an early morning” should also give the guest a clue that he has overstayed his welcome. (So will the command, “Sic ’em” to your dog, if it comes to that.)

  Tip #3: Yawn in the guest’s face. Loudly, and often. This is an easy hint for your guest to take. If not, a quick blast of buckshot from your rifle will do the trick.

  It’s on the television now.

  The executioner is declaring President Chiffray “a coward! He would let a child die in his place!”

  With a jerky motion, the camera swings over to a chair where Jeff sits. His hands are in his lap. His lower lip is trembling. His eyes are huge with anguish.

  When he looks at the camera, he’s looking at me.

  I see you, my baby. I’m here.

  But the realization that I should be there makes my legs collapse from under me.

  Lee drops with me and holds me until he’s sure I’m listening to him, until he’s sure my breathing is normal again, and then he murmurs, “Donna, I–”

  “No, Lee! Don’t say it.” Slowly, I rise to my feet.

  If he wants to tell me he can’t jeopardize the country, even if it means sacrificing Jeff, even if it means my hating him for the rest of my life, I don’t want to hear it, because, yes, I will hate him. I could never forgive him for doing his duty and putting the country above everything else, especially the life of my son.

  If he wants to tell me that he is willing to offer himself as a substitute for Jeff, I can’t let him do it. After all, he is the president of the United States and the most powerful man in the free world. Jeff’s life would always be shadowed by Lee’s selfless act. He would always feel guilty about Lee’s brave sacrifice. He would do what he could to honor it, and die trying.

  Or die in disgrace for never being able to live up to it. No one could.

  And I would have Lee’s sacrifice on my conscience, too.

  I let go of his hand. “We’ll figure something out.”

  “Bingo,” Mara exclaims.

  She’s standing beside a window and looking down.

  Jack and I join her there. “What do you see?” I ask.

  She grins. “Our way in.” She points downward.

  The window directly below us is open.

  Jack calls Arnie. “Look for three hot dots at a window in the president’s suite.”

  After a pause, Arnie says, “Found it.”

  “Ask Henry if the room below it is a guest room, and if so, whose it is.”

  The pause is longer this time, but finally he comes back on the phone. “It was registered to the Chinese security minister.”

  “Then, it’s empty,” I reason. Yes, there’s still hope.

  “Ah, makes sense,” Dominic murmurs with a straight face. “Who wouldn’t want a breath of fresh Los Angeles air after leaving mainland China?”

  Mara comes in with a handful of sheets that she pulled off the beds. “Nine-hundred-count hand spun sateen cotton. Top of the line and beautiful. Let’s hope these hold.”

  No shit. We’re on the nineteenth story of a twenty-story building. Even with a slight breeze, clinging onto sheets to get out of one window and into another on the floor below won’t be easy. But at this point, I’ll do anything to save my son’s life.

  Mara is chosen to climb down first. I’m to follow, then Jack, and finally Dominic.

  Besides tying the sheets together with double knots, we’ve tied belts around the knots, so that they hold.

  One end of the sheet rope is wrapped around Mara’s waist. The other is tied around the leg of a heavy antique table, which the men shove up against the wall next to the window.

  With Jack’s help, Mara eases herself out of the window. She then takes the rope with both hands. We lower her down but we hold tight, as her counter-balance. The goal is to swing through the window immediately below, land as quietly as possible, secure the room, and help the rest of us climb down.

  I wince as she slams into the side of the building. Soon, though, she finds the rhythm she needs as she scales down the wall.

  When she’s level with the window, we give a little more slack as she kicks off one more time for the added momentum needed to go throu
gh the window.

  To our relief, she disappears into the room.

  The sheet rope goes slack. We won’t pull it up until we get the high-sign from her.

  I hold my breath until she reappears. Her thumbs-up is accompanied by a smile.

  We pull the rope up. It’s my turn.

  I follow the same procedure. I tie it around my waist–not at the end of the sheet, but leaving a tail that Mara can grab ahold of, in order to pull me into the room.

  Before I go out the window, Jack hands me his backup gun: a Sig Sauer P226R, with a suppressor. Mara is carrying the same equipment.

  Then, he kisses me. A million emotions wash over me: love, desire, regret–

  But mostly determination.

  Together, we will save our son.

  I walk gently on the wall as Jack and Dominic lower me down–

  But in the silence eighteen and a half stories above traffic, the rip of a sheet is as loud as a thunder clap.

  I look up to survey the damage.

  Yes, I am almost literally hanging by a thread.

  The look on Jack’s face is one I’ve never seen before: sheer terror.

  Above me, the rope goes slack as it drops.

  The second it takes to pass me is long enough for the images of those I love to rise to the surface of my consciousness: I’m embracing them, telling them how much I love them, telling them that they will always feel me beside them.

  And then my mind’s eye is filled with the vision of my son as I last saw him.

  I’ve failed you, Jeff. Please forgive me.

  In desperation, I claw at the air. The split second seems like an eternity.

  The next thing I feel is Mara grabbing ahold of me at my knees, and pulling me through the window with all her might.

  We land on the carpeted floor with a thud.

  I’m about to thank her, but she puts her finger to her lips to silence me.

  Footsteps can be heard coming from the hallway.

  She rolls under the bed. I follow her lead.

  The footsteps stop outside the door.

  A long moment later, the door opens. At first, no one enters the room. When he finally does, it’s with the stealth of a cat.

  Mara reaches for one of the dead Chinese minister’s slippers and throws it toward the bathroom door.

  As the terrorist makes his move in that direction, I roll out from under the bed and pull Jack’s gun from its holster.

  The shot is a direct hit to the heart.

  Four killers to go.

  I pray Mara has it in her.

  I know I do.

  There are two soldiers at the far end of the hall, guarding the elevator and sharing a smoke. Mara hits the one on the left with a bullet to the head. I do the same with the one on the right.

  I text Jack: LION and cubs leave NOW on E Elev! U use C Elev to us.

  Mara and I move quickly but silently against the hallway’s right wall, the one that will give us the most coverage, since it is against the deepest part of the room. As we get to each doorway, we look inside. All are empty.

  We duck low to the ground as we reach the double-door entry, and peek around the corner to assess the situation. The rest of the hostages, bound and gagged, huddle together behind the sofa in full view of the camera. The Chinese minister’s body, stiff and bloodless, lies on a thick Persian carpet near a window. Next to it is that of his German counterpart. There is also a woman’s body–Walther’s assistant, Gretta, I presume.

  Thank God, Jeff is still alive–but not for long, if we don’t move quickly.

  There is just one ISIL guard left, and even he is mesmerized by what is about to take place: the beheading of a mere child.

  Tatyana mans the camera that will show the world their next heinous crime.

  Jeff is now kneeling in front of a coffee table. His head is bowed. His hands are bound behind his back. My son is not crying. In fact, he seems to be in a trance. The executioner declares, “The United States’ president has failed his people. He would rather see another innocent executed than sacrifice his personal political agenda. This is your child, America! How do you feel?”

  After nudging Mara, I point to myself and then make a slicing motion, to indicate that my target is the executioner. She nods, and waits for my three-count.

  On one, the man lifts his sword.

  On two, a bullet leaves my gun.

  Before the three count, he reels backward from the force of a bullet right between the eyes.

  Tatyana ducks down, just as Mara’s bullet whizzes over her head.

  She rolls to one side. When she rises, she is pointing a gun at Jeff. The gun goes off–

  And hits the soft flesh below the ribcage.

  Not Jeff’s ribcage, but Mara’s because she has leapt on top of him, shielding his body with hers.

  Before Tatyana can get off another shot, I shoot at her–

  But I miss. She runs down the hall.

  I pull the blindfold off Jeff’s eyes, and rip off the restraints on his hands and feet. Seeing that it is me, he throws his arms around me as if he never wants to let go.

  That’s fine with me. I feel exactly the same way.

  I’m reluctant to set him down, but I have to in order to see what I can do for Mara. As her blood flows out of her, her bittersweet life ebbs away. I cradle her face as I whisper, “Thank you, Mara, for saving Jeff’s life.”

  I can barely hear her as she whispers back, “You have everything I ever wanted, Donna. And you deserve it all…after…Carl.”

  The glazed look of death in her eyes tells me she is at peace.

  The next thing I know, Jack and Dominic are there too.

  Jeff runs up to Jack to be enveloped in a bear hug that lifts him off the floor.

  Over my son’s head, I ask, “Tatyana! Was she apprehended?”

  Jack stares back at me. “We didn’t see her! We came straight here!”

  “She must have ducked into one of the guest rooms! Oh hell–the elevator!”

  “It only goes up,” Jack reminds me.

  I run down the hall just in time to see the elevator doors opening, and Tatyana getting on the platform.

  As she leaps into it, I get off one shot before the doors close completely.

  When it comes back down for me, there is blood in it, but no Tatyana.

  It is probably Ed’s, but I hope it’s her blood.

  As silently as I can, I look in Lee’s suite first. Thank goodness, it’s empty.

  So is Walther’s suite. I presume he’s on his way back to Germany. The invasion of the summit is one black eye on his political career. The death of his country’s security minister is its knockout punch.

  I find it hard to feel sorry for him.

  On quiet feet, I walk through the concierge elevator platform to my suite. When I reach the threshold, I stop to listen for any noises.

  Nothing.

  I crouch down and look out–

  No one.

  I hear a noise. It’s coming from the sunken living room.

  Step by silent step, I make my way down the hall. When I get to the living room, I stop and raise my gun, then turn–

  To see Walther. He’s sitting on a couch. His hands are tied behind his back, and his mouth is gagged.

  The sight gives me pause.

  Big mistake. Tatyana kicks the gun out of my hand. Her gun is aimed at my head.

  She chuckles. “I was hoping it would be you! Much better than Jack Craig. I’ll enjoy taking away his one prized possession–his little hausfrau.”

  “That is not a dirty word in my language,” Walther reminds her. I notice that his hands are free, and he has pulled the gag from his mouth.

  He stands up. Before smoothing his cuffs, I see a tattoo on his right wrist:

  A half-moon.

  Walther is the saboteur code-named Sin.

  He clicks his tongue at Tatyana. “You made the bindings too tight, Tatyana meine liebster.”

  “Sorry, my
dear.” She shrugs. “Usually, you love them that way.”

  “Not when I don’t have much time to take my leave.” He winks at me. “Or, as you Americans say, ‘make a quick getaway.’ The chancellor is sending a helicopter. It should be on the roof any moment.”

  So, Tatyana was the playmate in Walther’s bed, not Gretta. And having seen Gretta’s dead body, I now realize that Tatyana was also the voice on the hotel’s house phone relaying the terrorists’ terms to Walther.

  I glare at him. “You are ISIL’s inside man.”

  He puts a finger to his lips. “Shhh. Let’s keep it our little secret, shall we?”

  “But–but you’re a cabinet secretary in the German government! Why would you betray your country–and the world–in this manner?”

  He shrugs. “The price was right. The moment the abduction was broadcast, fifty million was transferred into my Swiss bank account–a pittance to ISIL, considering the publicity! Hostages on American soil–and one is President Chiffray! It’s priceless! Not to mention the number of eager new recruits!” He laughs. “And now, being offered our dearly departed security minister’s appointment is an added bonus.”

  I mutter, “Considering this major faux pas, I’m surprised your chancellor would trust you to walk her dog, let alone with the country’s security.”

  He backhands me across the face. Noting that I don’t flinch, he shrugs. “After Franz’s grisly demise, I don’t think there will be many takers.”

  Good point.

  I turn to Tatyana. “You’re a ‘show me the money’ kind of girl. What’s your stake in this?”

  She raises a brow. “As you know very well, the Quorum has also had a recent death in the family. But as much as we all mourn the demise of our fearless leader–your ex-husband–the show must go on. For this mission to be a success, ISIL needed an onsite consultant–you know, to make the necessary arrangements for getting their A-Team God Squad into the country without raising any red flags, and out again as soon as possible.” She shrugs. “The executioners were worried that the mission might be too easy. You proved them wrong. That’s okay. They were ready to meet their virgins.”