by Josie Brown
Jack gives me a sidelong glance. I know he’s now wondering if this was the reason for Lee’s call to me. I look straight ahead, as if I’m not aware of his stare.
He’s about to say something to me when Ryan holds up his hands to counter the shocked murmurs and questions from the crowd. “We don’t know much, but from what we can tell, the hacker is a pro, not just some kid looking to prove something. It is cyberespionage of the highest order. And yet, he chose to leave a calling card. Three, in fact.”
From his iPad, he flashes an image onto the wall-sized video screen: a wild-eyed man in a top hat—the classic illustration of the Mad Hatter in Alice in Wonderland. Only this hatter is sitting with a laptop. Alphabet letters swarm the screen like flies. When they align, they read:
It is better to be feared than loved.
Spooky.
Dominic taps his lips with a forefinger. “From what I remember of Alice in Wonderland, that line was spoken by the Red Queen.”
Ryan nods. “Thanks for that, Dominic.”
The next clue says: What a funny watch! It tells the day of the month, and doesn't tell what o'clock it is!
“Alice, of course,” Dominic says, matter-of-factly. This knowledge earns him a few grudging nods.
“Here’s the final clue,” Ryan says, as it appears on the wall: Everything's got a moral, if only you can find it.
“This quote is directly from the Duchess,” Dominic declares.
I notice that a couple of fivers are handed around. Those who get them must have bet correctly that Dominic could go three for three.
Emma pats him on the shoulder. “How did you do that?”
Dominic shrugs. “It’s nothing, really. Every student at Ludgrove has memorized the entire text of Alice in Wonderland by his second year.”
“Ludgrove? What?…And all this time, I thought you’d gone to Hogwarts,” Arnie mutters. He turns to Emma. “Isn’t that what you told me?”
She sighs. “I didn’t have the heart to tell you Hogwarts isn’t a real place.”
“Yes, well, I’m sure Princes William and Harry were also disappointed,” Dominic sniffs. "But they got over it soon enough. As is the case with the rest of Ludgrove’s alumni, eventually they learned to appreciate its academic excellence sans wands and motorized broomsticks. What one must tolerate if the swish of ermine and the rattle of sabers is in one’s blood.”
“Back to the matter at hand, please.” Ryan scowls, warning them that he’s got a lot more to say. “We are now also aware that government contractors with access to these files were hacked as well.”
Dominic raises his hand. “Does that include Acme?”
A ghost of a smile rises on Ryan’s lips. “As a matter of fact, we are the only contractor who wasn’t infiltrated. I attribute that to two things. I’m sure we’re on the hacker’s radar, but Arnie Locklear’s crackerjack intrusion software, doubled with his other tech security initiatives, have kept us safe. The second is that Acme had nothing to do with the IC projects with access to the breached data files.”
For once, Carl’s hatred of his old employer has done us a favor.
“That being said, POTUS feels that Acme is the logical choice to conduct the security audit. It’ll be all hands on deck. Finding the perpetrator assures Acme’s status in the intelligence community will once again be second to none.”
“Yet one more thing that puts Carl on POTUS’s shit list,” I murmur to Jack.
“Don’t kid yourself,” he mutters back. “They’ve got some sort of bromance going on.”
I hold up a finger to my lips, to shush him.
He must have noticed that it’s my middle finger, because he snorts.
Abu raises his hand. “Ryan, is there any reason to believe it may be an inside job—say, a disillusioned government employee, or a government contractor with security clearance?”
Or more to the point, the IC director himself, since his own ties to the Quorum are still very much in question.
Ryan shakes his head. “Good question. In answer to the first scenario, our illustrious intelligence director insists not, but we won’t presume anything. Anyone could be the Mad Hacker. Of course, Director Stone would prefer the second scenario. In fact, if the culprit was found here at Acme, it would make his day.”
An uneasy chuckle can be heard through the room, but no one is really laughing. Ryan’s answer has bound us to a singular mission: to prove our former colleague and current nemesis wrong.
Ryan nods toward Arnie and Emma. Both begin to make their way through the room, distributing the stacks of file folders in their hands.
“Each and every one of us in this room is to play an important role in assessing the damage, and identifying the hacker. The majority of you—those working in tech-ops and systems analysis—will report to Arnie Locklear. You’ll be placed on a team with specific audit duties, such as looking for security exploits—bugs, viruses and Trojans—packet sniffing, or doing rootkit detection. Your team’s mandates are spelled out to you in your individual mission folders.” Ryan scans the faces in front of him. “The rest of you will be conducting personnel interviews, suspect interrogations and persons-of-interest investigations—all of which will be coordinated by Jack Craig. Here at Acme headquarters, Emma Honeycutt will be heading up the cyphering team, which will work here at Acme headquarters on the three original riddles left by the Mad Hacker in the IC database.”
Ryan passes out mission folders. Everyone gets one but me.
Noticing this, Jack murmurs, “Whatever we find is going to rattle Carl’s cage, so Ryan is smart to keep you out of this.”
I’m just about to come clean to him about my role in all this when Ryan adds, “This mission’s leader is Donna Stone. Any and all questions should be addressed to her. Take the next half-hour to look at your files. Afterward, we’ll meet back here. At that point, you can address your questions to Donna and your team leaders.”
Jack’s eyes open wide. His head turns my way, and his stare says it all: You knew about this?
“I can explain,” I start.
Jack shakes his head. He doesn’t wait for me, but heads toward the front door.
I start to run after him so that I can pull him aside and remind him what he told me—that he trusts me—but I can’t get to him because suddenly I’m surrounded by other Acme operatives. They pat me on the back and congratulate me for this plum assignment. Even those who haven’t worked with me before know me by reputation, or my personal history. It’s why they’re pledging their all—body and soul—to make our mission a success.
They will never forget Carl’s disloyalty—not just to Acme but to our country as well.
They want to take Carl down too. And I’m their fearless leader.
Hmmm…well…
In any regard, I’m their leader.
By the time I make it to the lobby, Jack’s Lamborghini is already pulling out of the parking lot. Damn it, what does he expect me to do, walk home?
Seeing Dominic, I wave him down. “After the audit debriefing, do you think you can give me a lift?”
He shakes his head. “Sorry, old girl. Afterward, I’m heading to my new private club.”
I raise a brow. “Oh? Which one? Déjà Vu? The Spearmint Rhino? Plan B?” These are all strip clubs, and there’s nothing private about them—unless you’re willing to hand over a Benjamin in order to get a private room and a dancer who’ll warm your lap for you.
“I’ve been accepted into the Grand Havana,” he sniffs.
That’s about his speed. Cigars, an overpriced menu, and a mediocre wine list—not to mention some of the most gorgeous women in LA, whose job is to make its power ranger members forget that they’re upping their odds for throat cancer every time they walk into the joint.
Maybe Arnie and Emma won’t mind taking me home. I find them standing in a cubicle by the window. Their backs are turned to me. When I get closer, I hear why—they’re in the middle of a very heated discussion.
I’m about to walk away when Arnie turns and sees me. “Donna, do you need me?” He sounds so desperate. I guess, at this point, he’d do anything to avoid Emma’s bad mood. Emma’s hormones have her swinging like a pendulum—not a good thing for a woman who is naturally acerbic anyway. To top it off, she isn’t taking well to the physical changes that come with pregnancy. Not only are her cravings crazy (pickles? Forget about it! Try chicken apple sausages, beets, and mango sherbet), she’s frustrated that she can no longer squeeze into her tight low-slung jeans.
Been there, felt that.
“I hate to ask, but Jack took off already, and I was wondering if you’d be kind enough to give me a ride home after the briefing.”
“Oh, Donna, sorry, but we can’t because we came on my bike.” Emma’s wheels are a Brutale 800 Dragster.
Suddenly, Arnie is all smiles. “As a matter of fact, we can.” He turns to Emma. “I was going to save it as a surprise. But hey, now’s as good a time as any.” He reaches into his pocket, takes out a car key, and dangles it in front of her. “Sweetie, this is for you.”
Emma stares down at it. “What is it, exactly?”
“The key to your new car! I bought you a Yukon Denali XL hybrid.” He points out to the parking lot. The SUV is in the front row: black and gorgeous. “It’s fully loaded,” he says proudly. “Four-wheel drive with a V8 engine, coil-over shocks, multilink rear suspension—I even got it with bullet-proof glass.”
Emma’s eyes narrow. “You got me a mommy mobile?”
His smile fades. “Em, sweetie, it’s not as if you can slap a baby seat on the back of your motorcycle. I don’t think California law allows for that.”
Emma lets that sink in. Then she starts to hyperventilate. As she bursts into tears, she slaps the keys out of his hands and storms off.
Arnie turns to me. “What did I do now?”
I don’t want to tell him that I think the Yukon was a bad idea, especially when it’s my dream car, and especially since it’s my ride home.
It’s ten o’clock at night by the time I get back to the house. Thank goodness Arnie is too morose about Emma’s reaction to be much of a conversationalist. However, when I jump out of the car, he asks, “It gets better, right?”
I pat his hand. “Yes. But, Arnie, take my advice—let Emma grow into the role of mother.”
He gulps. “What if she doesn’t?”
“Trust me, she will—starting with the very first time she holds her child in her arms.”
“That’s a relief. Still, I don’t think it will change how she feels about me.” His head is weighted by this thought.
Arnie loves Emma. And yes, at first, he was hurt that he wasn’t the father of her child. That honor goes to Reed Horwitch, an actor who seduced her while she and the rest of our Acme team was undercover with a film crew while trying to clear our names from Interpol’s Most Wanted List.
At the time, we all needed some diversions to get our minds off our situation. Unfortunately for Emma, she now has a constant reminder of that very anxious time in our lives.
Despite Arnie’s heartbreak over her affair, he’s embraced the idea of parenthood with open arms.
When he pulls a tiny velvet ring box out of the Denali’s glove compartment, I realize just how badly he wants Emma to accept him—not only as the father of her child, but as her husband.
I open it slowly. What’s inside makes me gasp. “Arnie! This is…beautiful!” The diamond, at least a carat, is placed on an angle in its platinum setting. The companion ring, a man’s, is angled in the opposite direction. So that when the wearers’ palms touch, the rings’ surfaces fit like two pieces of a puzzle.
He blushes. “I designed it myself. I was going to give it to her tonight, after she took the car for its first spin around town. But now…” He stares down at it. When I hand it to him, he tosses it back in the glove compartment.
I pat his arm. “She’s got a lot on her mind. Bide your time. Let her tell you when it’s right.”
He nods, but his eyes are clouded with doubt.
I know what he’s wondering: how long will I have to wait until she accepts me?
I watch as he pulls away from the curb. For his sake, I hope Emma has calmed down by the time he gets home.
For my sake, I hope Jack has forgiven me too.
I enter through the kitchen door. The first thing I notice is that all but a quarter of the cake is already eaten.
It’s no wonder the kids have gone to bed early—with bellyaches, I imagine.
The guest room door is cracked open. The television is on, but Aunt Phyllis is on the bed, snoring.
It’s for the best. If Jack and I are to have a civil conversation about why I’m on this mission—and why I’ve been chosen as its leader—better that no one else is in the line of fire.
But he’s not in our bedroom. So, where is he?
I glance out the window. The inky darkness is cut only by the pale glow of a half moon. Once my eyes get used to it, I see Jack: on the back terrace, sitting on a chaise lounge.
I practically run downstairs to the kitchen.
I grab a tray. On it, I put my peace offering: what’s left of Jack’s double chocolate cake, along with a knife to cut it, two plates, two forks, some napkins, and a couple of tall glasses filled with milk.
In this case, I don’t kid myself that chocolate cures all ills, but it’s a start.
If Jack hears me coming, he doesn’t show it.
Perhaps the half-empty Scotch bottle beside him has something to do with that.
I ignore it. Instead, I make it a point to walk in front of him before placing the tray on the picnic table. I cut him a generous slice of the cake, and take it to him with a glass of milk. “Peace offering.”
He takes the cake, but waves away the milk, pointing to the tumbler of Scotch beside him. “My thirst is quenched, thank you very much.”
I drop down onto the wrought-iron settee beside him. “So I see.”
He scowls as he stares back at me.
Aw, heck. Why didn’t I keep my mouth shut?
He jabs the cake with his fork. After taking a bite, he mutters, “Not bad. Why don’t you join me?”
“I’m…not hungry.” By the time we were done with our meeting, I’d devoured three hefty wedges of pizza—not that Jack needs to know that.
“Oh, yes, I forget. Must keep your girlish figure if you’re to entice the real Mr. Stone into divulging his deepest, darkest secrets.”
Silently, I count to three. “Jack, I know you’re hurt that I didn’t tell you about Lee’s plan before Ryan divulged it to the team as a whole—”
He stabs his fork at me. “Ha! I knew it!”
Firmly, I nudge his fork away from my face. “Knew what, may I ask?”
“That it was Lee’s idea.”
“What of it?”
“Don’t you see, Donna? You’re Lee’s pawn! He moves you around the board, knowing full well that Carl will chase after you. Carl corners you, and he corners Carl.” As Jack spits out his concern, he spews a couple of crumbs in my direction.
Because I know how much he cares for me, I resist the urge to take the milk and throw it in his face. Instead, in a soft but determined tone, I counter, “Isn’t that what we want as well—to corner Carl?”
“Not at the cost of your safety, or your children’s wellbeing.” He takes a swig of his Scotch. “Have you forgotten that this mission puts you in close proximity to Carl—something which, up until this afternoon, I thought you were opposed to, considering you’ve been dodging his subpoenas for the past few months?”
I pull the subpoena out of my back pocket. “Too late. Happened this morning.”
“I see.” The cynical glint in Jack’s eyes softens just a bit. “Maybe it’s time to call that deadbeat lawyer of yours and put him to work for real.”
“I did better than that. I paid him a visit. A lot of good it did me. He says I’ll be in contempt of court if I don’t acquiesce to the judge�
��s ruling for joint custody—that is, if I can’t convince Carl otherwise.”
Jack shrugs. “So that’s what this is really about.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Don’t be coy, Donna. All Carl has to do is be within sniffing distance of you and he goes wild with the desire to do one of two things: kill you”—he stabs another bite of cake with his fork, but just stares down at it—“or fuck you. Granted, the first desire makes sense. If he gets away with it, you’re out of his way once and for all, and legally, nothing can stand in his way of getting full custody of Mary, Jeff and Trisha—not even me.” He frowns. “But something tells me he loves keeping you around just so that he can taunt you—or better yet, bend you to his will. And thanks to Lee, now more than ever, he’s in a position to do so. Which brings us to the sixty-trillion-dollar question: just how far will you go to make sure he stays out of the children’s lives?”
Jack is just about to dig into the cake again when I snatch his plate away. “Are you insinuating that I’d…I’d…” I’m so angry that I can’t even say it.
He grabs it back. “In a word, yes.”
I rise to my feet. “Thanks for your vote of confidence. I’ll keep it in mind. By the way, I don’t appreciate the fact that you’ve walked off this mission. You told me you’d always have my back.”
“You don’t need me. Lee has your back, remember? If you’re right—and in my book, that’s a big if—I presume he admires the view.” As he cranes his head, his gaze goes downward, to my ass. “I don’t think he’ll mind sharing it with Carl, since it gives him the leverage he needs. For once, I look forward to telling you ‘I told you so.’” He crams another forkful of cake into his mouth.
When I reach for the plate again, he jerks his hand away—
And the cake goes flying.
Devil’s food icing on a white silk blouse is not a good fashion statement.
I grab the plate in order to fling it at him, like a Frisbee.
He ducks and it soars right over his head. When this precious piece of my Lenox Vintage Jewel collection hits the branch holding Mary’s old tree house—now Trisha’s domain—it shatters into a dozen jagged pieces.
