by Josie Brown
“Even if it’s Mr. Ellison, or Mr. Andreessen?”
He sighs mournfully. “Yes, Chloe—anyone. I’ll be back as soon as I walk Miss Talbot out.”
If he escorts me out after the damn tour, the mission is screwed.
I try to think of some reason to change his mind, but he’s already shepherding me down the hall, to the room where “the magic” takes place: Operation Hercules’ lab.
Rudy talks a mile a minute, but nothing he tells me is more than the media sound bites he’ll be spouting as soon as Operation Hercules is revealed to an unknowing public.
But, revealed by whom: the U.S. government? Or, the Quorum, while boasting it stole it from the U.S. Defense Department as it auctions off these so-called super soldiers to the highest bidding terrorist organizations?
Trust me, no DARPA public information officer would know how to spin that one.
Besides recording him on my cell phone’s digital audio app, Emma is also monitoring the mission via my audio bud and security cam contact lenses.
So far, his answers barely touch the surface. Despite encouraging him to call me Marilyn, he keeps things formal to the point that he practically hisses the salutation “Miss.”
I’m okay with that. He’s not my type anyway. But because my goal is access to his cell phone, I am not okay with the fact that he doesn’t have his cell on him.
I’ve got to get back into his office so that I can access it.
Up until now, I’ve been nodding benignly. Time to turn up the heat. Holding my hands behind my back, I slide off my wedding and engagement rings before slipping the engagement ring back on alone.
“Too bad all of this is top secret! It’s such an interesting and worthwhile application for civilian use too. My fiancé would be all over financing something like this.”
Rudy’s eyes open, as if noticing me for the very first time—and this time he isn’t forcing himself to be polite.
To validate my claim, I hold up my hand so that he can admire my engagement ring. “In fact, this is my last assignment at DARPA before my nuptials.”
“Congratulations,” Rudy’s politeness is tempered by a doubtful smirk. “Who’s the lucky guy?”
“He lives here in Silicon Valley.” I shrug. “Horace Levy. He does a lot of work with…er, the Pentagon.” To let him know I realize my faux pas, I tap my mouth with my palm. “You didn’t hear that from me.”
It takes a few moments before Rudy realizes his jaw has dropped open. If only he knew he was salivating too. “Horace? Yes, I know Horace!...Of course not, Mum’s the word!” He’s telling the truth. The sole purpose of his call to Horace is because of his governmental connections. “Oh, and listen, Marilyn: feel free to mention DNA 10Squared to him.”
I put a finger to my lips to remind him that we share a secret. “Can’t! At least, not now that your project is top secret. I guess it’s why your company isn’t already on his radar.” I snap off my audio app. “But who knows what the future holds?” It’s my turn to give a suggestive wink. “I should be going. Horace and I are going into the city for dinner. Traffic between Palo Alto and the city is awful in the early evening!”
“I’m surprised he doesn’t just helicopter in,” Rudy mutters.
I stare at him until he’s uncomfortable, but then I burst out laughing, stymying him to no end. “Oh, but we are! I was referring to San Francisco’s copter traffic.” I look down at my watch. “As soon as Mark and Priscilla reach Horace’s helipad, we’ll take off. They’re both standing up for us”—I duck my head shyly—“you know, during the nuptials.” I wave off the hopeful look in his eye, “It’ll be just a small wedding party at Horace’s Mendocino lodge. He’s a very shy person.”
Rudy frowns. “So I’ve been told.”
I smile hopefully. “Rudy, I noticed you have what looked like an authentic Picasso in your office. Before I head out, would you mind if I took a closer look at it? He’s one of my favorite artists.” I duck my head shyly. “I was an art history major until I realized it wouldn’t pay the bills. It’ll be a joy living among Horace’s wonderful collection.”
Rudy’s eyes flicker with jealousy. Still, he’s able to keep it at bay in order to exclaim, “By all means.”
“You should be just as proud of your part in Operation Hercules,” I whisper reverently. “I’m sure it’ll pay off in spades.”
“That’s the plan,” he declares.
When we walk back, he’s got his hand firmly on my back.
“It’s…just…beautiful,” I sigh, as I wipe away an imaginary crocodile tear. I don’t know how long I’ve stood in front of the Picasso—certainly the four minutes and thirty seconds needed for Arnie’s Trojan app to do its thing.
“Transmitting,” Emma assures me.
Just at that moment, Rudy’s face lights up along with a grand notion: “Take it.”
“Say what?” Emma practically shouts in my ear.
I shake my head, and not just to get her voice out of my head. “No…no! I couldn’t!”
“I insist. Consider it my wedding present to you and Horace.” To prove that he won’t hear no for an answer, he plucks it from the wall and holds it out to me.
“Mr. Brooks, I—”
“Call me Rudy, please. And may I call you Marilyn? …Good! Marilyn, I mean it. If you don’t take it, I’ll be insulted! Horace is a saint of our industry. If this makes you happy, then I’m happy too.”
“Oh…shit!” Emma squeals in my ear. “A Picasso!”
I back out toward the door. “He’ll be as speechless as I am.”
He waves me out. “It’s only a painting, after all. I’m sure Horace will be the first to say, ‘the world is the totality of facts, not things’.”
Yet again with the Wittgenstein witticisms? The dude needs new material. “You’re probably right,” I murmur. I smile as I wave goodbye—
And hightail it out of there.
“What will you say to Ryan?” Emma asks when I’m safely down the road.
“Oh, hell, I don’t know!” I sigh. “One thing for sure: I won’t be quoting Wittgenstein.”
Because Evan is worried about being late for his appointment on the Berkeley campus with Dr. Wollstonecraft, he begs me to drop him off in front of the building while I search out a nearby parking spot.
There aren’t any.
By the time I find one and hustle to the Bioengineering building, he’s already been introduced to her.
Worse yet, they’ve started the tour without me.
I won’t be able to plant the Trojan until they get back. Even then, it may be a long shot, based on what the department’s administrative assistant says. “The professor appreciated his promptness, considering how full her agenda is today.” She nods at the roomful of teens and their parents who squirm anxiously in their seats beside me.
“Perhaps if you call her to find out where they are, I can join them,” I suggest brightly.
The assistant leans in and whispers, “To tell you the truth, Professor Wollstonecraft prefers having one-on-one time with prospective students. She feels they’re more candid in sharing the goals they have for their futures.”
In other words, there’s nothing I can do but cool my heels.
I take my seat beside the assistant, and wait. And wonder how to explain to Ryan that I blew it.
Twenty minutes later, I hear Evan’s voice from down the hallway, thanking Dr. Wollstonecraft for “agreeing to meet with me on such short notice.” By the time they come into view, he adds, “Berkeley is very high on my wish list. But I guess you hear that from everyone.”
“Yes,” Shelley admits. Still, she’s smiling as she adds, “But not everyone has your GPA combined with your stellar extracurricular record, and such extensive knowledge of what Berkeley’s bioengineering department has to offer.”
She sounds sincere. Considering my reason for being here, I wonder how much of it is an act?
I also wonder what coerced her to sell intel to the Quor
um. The intel gathered from her cell phone would have given Acme those answers. I’ll have to figure out a different way to get to it.
I think I have my answer when Dr. Wollstonecraft hands Evan her business card. “This is my private email. I’d be interested in the experiment you mentioned, on the memory games you performed on the dogs.”
Hearing this, Evan’s smile broadens. “It was a blast to do. Of course, it scared the heck out of my dad. He didn’t understand why I built such an extensive kennel in the backyard.”
She looks around at the room. “Is he here with you today?”
Evan’s face loses all color. “Um…no. He’s no longer with us. Nor is my mother. I’m here with one of my guardians.” He beckons me over. “Professor Wollstonecraft, this is Donna Stone…I mean, Craig! Donna, this is Shelley Wollstonecraft.”
As I hold out my right hand, I initiate the app that releases the Trojan.
Now, all I need to do is keep her talking for the next four and a half minutes…
“It’s a true pleasure to meet you,” I exclaim fervently. “I have to apologize for missing the tour, but if it gave the two of you a chance to know each other better—”
“Excuse me, Dr. Wollstonecraft,” her assistant interrupts loudly. “Mr. Courtland is on the phone for you. He says he’s called your cell phone several times already. He insists on talking.”
Is it Todd Courtland? I wonder.
Shelley frowns. “Oh! …I’m so sorry, Mrs. Craig. If you’ll excuse me. Evan again, a pleasure.” She hurries off.
I look down at my watch: less than two minutes, darn it.
Evan chatters happily all the way to the car: about the department’s state-of-the-art lab, its most recent grants, and its cutting-edge research in neuroscience.
“What was that about some science project with the dogs?” I ask him.
“It was something I tried the summer of ninth grade—before Mom got the bug to run for the presidency.” He frowns at the thought. “I trained the three dogs to play with a toy mouse. Afterward, I trained them to attack it.”
“Interesting concept. What was the purpose in it?”
He shrugs. “I was trying to understand hate.”
“Were you successful?”
“In making the dogs hate the mouse? Unfortunately, yes—with two of them, anyway. The third dog refused to hate his. Before I could figure out why, Mom had made her decision to run for the presidency—and to give the dogs away. She said I wouldn’t have time for them once the campaign season started.”
Evan has so much to forgive Catherine for.
I wonder if he’ll ever quit hating her.
When we land at LAX, Mary, Jeff and Jack are already waiting for us in the passenger pick-up zone. They jump out of my van, and in no time we are enveloped in a group hug.
When I lift my head, I realize someone is missing: Trisha. “Where is the little one?”
“Still at her sleepover. You’ll want to pick her up later this afternoon.” His emphasis on the word “you’ll” is delivered with a smirk.
“Sure I will,” I respond coolly. “Care to go with me?”
As the kids jump into the car, he shakes his head adamantly. “Been there, done that. I’ve got the emotional scars to prove it. Her double-entendres and lascivious suggestions bordered on sexual abuse.”
“I’m sure you sidestepped it admirably. What I’d like to know is how close you had to get in order to upload the Trojan virus.”
He shudders. “Too close. Since when does crying on someone’s shoulder include a quick squeeze of his junk?”
“You’re telling me she had the nerve to—”
“I kid you not.” He raises his hand in a pledge. “I had half a mind to ask her to share her prognosis with my proctologist so that I can skip this year’s physical.”
I’m still laughing as I get into the front passenger seat.
From the rear-view mirror, I notice that Mary is holding Evan’s hand. Even before we hit the 405, they are in deep conversation regarding his take on the Berkeley tour.
Hearing Dr. Wollstonecraft’s name, Jack’s eyes shift to. “All is not lost,” he murmurs.
“Pray tell,” I implore him.
His shake of the head indicates I’ll get my answer later.
Instead, he glances in the rearview mirror. His eyes fall on Jeff, who is deep in thought. “You’re awfully quiet, young man. Is all this the talk about college admissions giving you food for thought?”
Jeff looks up. “What? …Oh! No. I’m just…” He shrugs. “I’ll tell you tomorrow.”
Jack smiles. “After we drop you kids at home, we’ve got to swing by the office, but we’ll certainly be home by late afternoon if you want to bare your soul to me then.”
Jeff shakes his head. “I’ll need another day on my, er, analysis.” Whatever is on his mind, it’s no joking matter.
“Will you be able to follow up with Dr. Wollstonecraft on your experiment?” Mary asks Evan.
“Yes. It’s somewhere in my boxes of things stored in your garage. I can dig it out.”
“Better sooner than later, so that you’re fresh in her mind,” Jack warns him.
“I’ve only got a print version. Should I send a copy by mail?” Evan asks.
“No, via email,” Jack suggests. “We’ve got a scanner at the house. Give it to us before we leave, and we’ll turn it into a PDF file and drop it onto a thumb drive, so that you can email it to her.”
Twenty minutes later we are home. Another twenty and Jack and I are scanning Evan’s report and the accompanying photos while he writes his cover letter thanking Dr. Wollstonecraft for her time, and summarizing the attachments.
“Fingers crossed,” Evan declares, as he hits the send button on his email program.
I wait until we’re back in the car before leaning over with a thank-you kiss for Jack. “It was kind of you to help him with his follow-up message to Shelley.”
“It’s not all altruistic. I have an ulterior motive, which you’ll hear when we join Ryan and the others.”
“As long as it helps Evan’s cause, I’m game.”
Given the grimace on Jack’s face, I may be asking too much.
Chapter 9
Funeral Arrangements
It is said that one of the saddest days in your life is when you have to make funeral arrangements for a loved one.
However, if your feelings for the departed are at best “meh,” here are some shortcuts you should feel free to take:
First, don’t let the funeral director talk you into an expensive casket. Suggest cremation, and tell him you’re passing on the expensive urn. To make your point, take a mason jar with you and leave it there.
Next, keep the eulogy short and sweet. The deceased’s name, rank, and serial number will do. If his crime toward anyone is part of the public record, feel free to read it out loud, so that if the victim is in attendance, they’ll feel vindicated. In fact, expect him to break out into a happy dance.
And finally, don’t invite everyone the deceased may have known. Just a few close friends and family will do. If you’re lucky, they’ll feel the way you do about him, and will conveniently have something more important to do that day—like spend the day with someone who made them laugh instead of grit their teeth.
Ryan, Emma, Arnie, and Abu are already in Acme’s conference room when we arrive.
We barely have time to take our seats before Ryan tersely declares, “We’ve got clearance on FLOTUS and Rudy Wells.”
“We still have to clear POTUS,” Abu points out.
“I have to pick up Trisha from Lion’s Lair. In fact, I plan on doing so when we leave here.” I sigh. “Sorry, Ryan, that I didn’t get to upload the Trojan on Shelley Wollstonecraft’s cell.”
Ryan tilts his head, stymied. “Sure you did. It was just activated.”
I shake my head in wonder. “But…how?”
“When you mentioned you missed your opportunity with Shelley’s phone, I att
ached the Trojan to Evan’s email to her,” Jack admits.
“Apparently she opened it, because we now have access to her photo archive, which is linked to her cell phone as well,” Arnie explains.
I glare at Jack. “Look, I certainly understand what’s at stake here, but if it rings any alarms with the school’s cyber-security support, it will affect Evan’s application for admission to Berkeley.”
Arnie waves my fear away. “Donna, come on already! Heck, I’ve cracked the White House. I can certainly slip by a few academic coders.”
Jack takes hold of my hand. “Donna, I know I should have discussed it with you first, but the opportunity fell into our laps. As our mission leader, I had to take it.”
“Great, then. Considering that Dr. Wollstonecraft is now in the clear, I’ll let you explain it to Evan if it blows up in his face.” I rise. “I need to pick up my daughter.”
“Don’t you mean our daughter?” Jack mutters.
“You’re right. She is our daughter. And once again, we are using her childhood close friendship to promote a mission. I get it, Jack: it’s a necessary evil. Still, it doesn’t make it any easier.” I walk away so that the others can’t see my tears.
Ryan follows me out. “Donna, I know you’ve always hoped to separate your personal and professional lives. I’m sorry it hasn’t always worked out that way. But I also know you’ll never jeopardize the success of a mission because of it.”
He’s not just saying this to appease me. Only recently I learned that Ryan was once married. When he revealed his government-sanctioned double life to her, the thought so repulsed her that she put herself in danger, and paid the ultimate price: her life.
When I learned of Carl’s duplicity, I had the same response, with a different result: I joined Acme to avenge him.
Still, on a daily basis I play hide-and-seek with death.
He knows I’ll get what Acme needs, one way or another.
The security detail at Lion’s Lair are so accustomed to seeing the Donna-mobile that they never look twice when I hand them my ID, and in fact reward me with the shadow of a smile. They know me as a friend of POTUS.
