Hollywood Scream Play (4 page)

THE ONLY DIFFERENCE

BETWEEN CONGRESS AND THE MAFIA

IS THAT ONE OF THEM IS 
ORGANIZED
.

At least I was able to wash most of the desert dust out of my hair in the ladies’ room sink. But even after running it under the hand dryer a couple of times, I’m still quite a fright. Perhaps if I pull my hair back with a scrunchie I won’t look too scary to the members of the Senate Intelligence Committee.

Jack must feel the same way because he winces as I exit the ladies’ room. “Just my opinion, but I doubt that get-up will help you win friends, let alone influence a senate nomination panel.”

I shrug. “It was either this, or buy the 1970s Braniff stewardess uniform from the airport’s museum.”

“Then you’ve made the right choice. No need to give anyone on that committee a Mile High Club flashback, on the off-chance that his or her spouse is sitting in the gallery.”

Since Yemen, Jack and I have avoided the topic of what either of us will say, if, in fact, we have to take the stand and swear on a stack of Bibles as to what we know about Carl’s actions. I guess there’s no better time to discuss it than now, since we have an hour’s worth of Route 66 and I-395 traffic ahead of us.

“If either of us should be called upon to testify, I presume the best tactic is to keep all worms in their cans.” I don’t look at him as I speak. Instead, I fix my face with my duty-free treasure trove of Cover Girl products. “You know, answer the senators’ questions with as few words as possible. Keep on point, and—well, stay away from anything that might be misconstrued as a possible breach of conduct on our part.”

“This, coming from someone whose tee-shirt may actually have her pegged as a hostile witness.” He sighs. “If what you’re asking is whether or not I plan on jeopardizing Acme, and for that matter, our livelihood, I think you know the answer to that. But, at the same time, I’ll do my best to make sure that Carl’s nomination does not get approved. If anything, they should know the truth about him, and hang him for being a traitor.”

He reads the long pause between us as fear on my part.

Good—because that’s exactly what it is.

Just in case he’s forgotten, I gently remind him, “You know, you can always plead the fifth. Alan Swan says—”

“Alan Swan?” Jack busts out laughing. “You actually talked to that dufus of a divorce lawyer about this?”

Now I feel guilty about my panicked cell phone call from the ladies’ room. “I felt it prudent that one of us talk to someone! Acme’s directives to its agents may have been government-sanctioned, but you’ve got to admit, there have been quite a few off-the-books indiscretions. Besides, it’s not as if Ryan has gone out of his way to prep us for this stuff.”

“Don’t blame Ryan. These last few weeks he’s had his hands full, reminding our clients of all our good deeds on their behalf.”

I wipe away a tear. “I don’t. I blame myself. If only I’d killed Carl when I had the opportunity.”

My chance came after Carl resurfaced—to me, alone—after five years being presumed dead. I shot at him when he tried to set off a deadly nanobomb in a stadium—one that would have been fatal to tens of thousands of mothers, fathers, and children, including ours.

I should have aimed for his head, but my heart got the better of me. Instead, I wounded him.

He escaped, killing two men in the process.

Jack shrugs. “If anyone is at fault, it’s me. I had a chance to take him out, too. Remember? If I had, we wouldn’t be in this predicament.”

Jack had been chasing after the Quorum even during the years I’d presumed Carl was dead. He had been the first Acme operative to suspect Carl was a double agent—after Carl coerced Jack’s wife, Valentina, to abscond with a microdot containing the code to the DaaS Cloud holding Acme’s worldwide directory of agents and assets.

By the time he’d caught up with Carl, he’d already fallen in love with me.

Six months after Carl escaped, Jack caught up to him. But he also hesitated to shoot him—because he felt that the act of killing Carl, the father of my children, would always stand between us.

Was he right?

Now, almost two years later, we both know the answers that eluded us then.

Yes, I’m over Carl.

And yes, it’s time to take him down.

We must not fail to convince those who can approve his nomination that he’s the biggest threat to US national security.

It’s not just our jobs at stake, but our lives.

Jack takes my hands in his and looks me in the eye. “Donna, both of us must tell the truth—not just because lying would perjure us, but because we have nothing to fear. The former intelligence director sanctioned every one of our missions. That being said, we’ll answer the committee’s questions within the boundaries of our missions’ security classifications.”

“By doing so, will we be able to stop Carl’s appointment?”

He rolls his forefinger from my palm to the crook of my elbow, where he lets it linger.

I’m always in awe of his tenderness.

“If he’s confirmed anyway, at least we will have done our best to put his actions on the record—without incriminating ourselves,” he continues, “and then let the chips fall where they may.”

It’s my personal mission to make sure they don’t land on Jack.

Otherwise, they will cost Carl dearly.

By the time we get to the Senate building, the hearing is already in session. The public gallery in the hearing room is chock-f of those whose livelihoods depend on securing a contract with any one of the sixteen elements of the US intelligence community, or the IC as it calls itself.

Besides the Central Intelligence Agency (CIA), there is a veritable alphabet soup of federal bureaus. The Department of Defense comes to the party with the largest posse, which includes the National Reconnaissance Office (NRO), the National Geospatial-Intelligence Agency (NGA), the National Security Agency (NSA), the Army Intelligence and Security Command (INSCOM), and the Drug Enforcement Administration (DEA).

There is also the Department of Energy’s Office of Intelligence and Counterintelligence (OICI), as well as the Treasury Department’s Office of Terrorism and Financial Intelligence (TFI). The State Department’s Bureau of Intelligence and Research (INR) is its liaison to this motley crew.

Etcetera, etcetera, etcetera.

The heads of all of these departments are here today. Frowny faces all around. I imagine there are a few sweaty palms as well. If not through personal experience, then certainly their own reconnaissance has made them well aware of Carl’s reputation as a rogue black-ops agent, a terrorist, and a man bent on revenge.

Welcome to my world, boys.

Have they been back-channeling what they know to the nominating committee? Do they understand that telling the truth is the only thing that will take him down, or will they play ball to save their own covert operations?

I pray the former, but if I had to bet, I’d put my chips on the latter.

Apparently the Senate Select Subcommittee on Intelligence’s chairman, Senator Vanna Ackerman, has already made her opening remarks because Carl is beginning his introductory statement:

“When President Chiffray asked me to be Director of National Intelligence, he made it emphatically clear that he wants someone who can build the intelligence community into an integrated team. He wants someone who will tell policymakers what they need to know, even if it isn’t what they want to hear. Lastly, he wants someone who knows how to get things done in a bipartisan, professional manner.” Carl’s arms open wide, as if he’s embracing the entire committee. “I am humbled by his nomination. Should I be confirmed, I will serve diligently and competently.”

Throughout his spiel, Senator Ackerman’s face has been frozen in an implacable stare. This moderate statesperson, who hails from a state as purple as her ill-fitting Armani suit, is known for being blunt in front of the press and a take-no-prisoners negotiator behind the Senate’s heavy oak closed doors, all of which bodes well for Team Acme.

Um…wait a minute. Maybe not. Suddenly there is a twinkle in her eyes. Her lips lift into a provocative come-hither smile.

Oh my God…

She’s flirting with Carl.

Proof is in the way she broaches her very first question—
while toying with the string of pearls around her neck
. “You’ve proudly served your country as a US Marine, have you not, Lieutenant Stone?”

Carl’s Mona Lisa smile is a show of modesty. “Yes, that’s correct, Senator. I feel my experience in the military – starting with my two tours of active duty – provided a wealth of experience in intelligence, which has been expanded and honed by the things I've done since retiring from military service.”

A loud sneeze, coming from the other side of the room, barely disguises the word, “Bullshit!”

I’ll say.

It sounded a lot like Arnie, but if he’s here, he’s in disguise, which wouldn’t surprise me in the least. This sort of function is catnip to him, custom-made to be crashed.

Senator Ackerman scowls as she cranes her neck in order to take in the public gallery. “For those who wish to comment extemporaneously, let there be no doubt that you will be escorted out of the room posthaste. Do I make myself clear?”

Silence.

Ryan’s eyes seek out mine. He frowns.

I shake my head to assure him that it wasn’t me.

However, if Carl topples over from a knife in his back, I’ll gladly take the fall.

But they’ll have to catch me first.

Having chastised the crowd, Senator Ackerman shuffles the papers in front of her. The first two buttons of her blouse are undone so that when she leans forward, she creates a deep chasm between her breasts. “And as I recall, Lieutenant Stone, you’re also a decorated veteran.”

“Yes, Madame Chairman. A Silver Star, and the Distinguished Flying Cross.”

She tilts her head to one side, as if she’s heard the whisper of an angel. “Such a brave man,” she rhapsodizes. “I can see why the president feels as strongly as he does about your abilities. That said, I’ll cede the floor to the committee’s vice chairman, Senator C. Bright Kuley.”

Senator Kuley, a Republican who hails from the great state of Missouri, is one of the country’s venerable senior statesmen. Besides being the ranking minority leader on this committee and his party’s whip, in his six terms in the Senate he has previously served as chairman of the Judiciary, Foreign, and Homeland Security and Governmental Affairs committees.

He’s been married to the same woman for forty years. Together, they have three grown children, and eight grandchildren. Nary a scandal has sullied his long tenure, hence his nickname, “Bright the White Knight.”

Kuley frowns as he positions the microphone in front of him. I tense up. Will he, too, be lobbing softballs for Carl to hit out of the park?

“Despite your stellar service record, 
Mister
 Stone, your most recent activities were in the private sector, were they not?”

Carl nods. “Yes, Mr. Vice Chairman. I was also an independent contractor with a company that holds contracts with at least twelve of the intelligence community’s organizations—”

“‘Independent contractor?’ More like rogue agent,” I mutter to Jack.

“Shhh,” he warns me. “Don’t get us kicked out of here.”

“—and this gave me great insight into their roles, as well as the strengths and limitations, of contractors,” Carl continues. “I also know how the IC is viewed from the outside, and how financial goals motivate a commercial entity as it competes for, wins, and fulfills contracts.”

“Even to the point of creating the terror it claims to stamp out, is that not so, Mr. Stone?”

Carl nods, ever so innocently. “You’re absolutely correct, sir.”

“In fact, Mr. Stone, your actions as an operative in—and some would say 
leader
 of the terrorist organization known as the Quorum put you on the World’s Most Wanted Fugitives List for at least two years. Now I ask you, in what alternative universe would you, let alone our new president, envision a known terrorist as the US Director of Intelligence?”

I clench Jack’s hand in mine. 
Finally, someone is going to nail him to the cross I’ve been bearing for the past seven years!

Carl’s smile doesn’t waver. Instead, he eases against the back of his chair, as if enjoying a polite conversation with an old friend as opposed to one of the most powerful men in the country. “I have heard expressions of concern about my independent status. The truth of the matter is that, while under deep cover, I infiltrated one of the most notorious terrorist organizations—
and brought it to its knees
.”

A gasp is heard through the room—

—Only to be drowned out by my exclamation, “Bullshit! Yo Carl, stop me if I’m wrong, but wasn’t it you who tried to set off a nanobomb in a stadium filled with people? And weren’t you the lunatic who almost shot down POTUS with a heat-seeking missile?”

Carl’s gaze in my direction is followed by two of the committee’s security detail, but I duck my head just in time.

Madame Chairman slams down her gavel so many times that I’m surprised it hasn’t broken into splinters.