Hollywood Scream Play (5 page)

Like all good comedians, Carl waits until the audience has calmed down before continuing. “There were many things I had to do to prove myself to the terrorist’s leaders, none of which I’m proud of. But the success of my mission speaks for itself—
I alone eliminated all twelve of the leaders in the international terrorist organization known as the Quorum
. My mission’s success has been well-documented in a report that was submitted to President Chiffray within an hour of his being sworn into office, by the outgoing intelligence director, in fact. After reading it, the president handed a copy to Madame Chairman, along with his nomination letter.”

Senator Kuley glares at his colleague. “Is this true?”

Vanna Ackerman gives him a slight nod.

“Why wasn’t I, or the rest of the committee, privy to this so-called report?” Kuley roars at her.

She hits her gavel on its block. “If the great senator from Missouri will get ahold of himself, I’ll very honestly and directly tell you that report’s sensitivity is such that the redaction process is still in progress. You see, Lieutenant Stone’s undercover status was compromised on numerous occasions by one of the community’s most trusted contractors, no less! It is a viper that our country has nursed to its bosom!” She is clasping her own 38DDs so hard that I’m surprised she can breathe at all.

Obviously, so is Jack, because he snickers until he is choking.

I’d think it were funny, too, if it hadn’t dawned on me that Carl is about to get away with murder. Make that numerous murders, and attempted murders—not to mention a few conspiracies to commit treason, attempted terrorist acts, and seven years of negligence in regard to child support payments.

I’m about to say so, loud and proud, but Jack has slapped his hand over my mouth. In our relationship, keeping each other out of jail is the ultimate public display of affection, so I guess I can forgive him.

“Mr. Vice Chairman, I’m sorry that you and the others weren’t aware of my endeavors prior to this hearing.” Carl’s loud sigh pointedly lays the blame at the feet of his predecessor. “And of course I welcome any further questions, after you do read it. That being said, let me assure you that my very first act as Director of Intelligence is to do a full audit of all contractors. As the Snowden and Grodin incidents have so glaringly exposed, many of those who are paid well to guard our greatest secrets are, in fact, our worst enemies.”

I can’t keep quiet anymore. “Takes one to know one!” I shout at the top of my lungs.

This time, Jack shoves me under the bench while the senate security guards ramp up their search for the heckler.

In that position, I can barely breathe, but I can still hear Carl as he declares, “Keeping this Committee fully and currently informed is not only the law, it is this position’s solemn obligation. I say this not only as an intelligence-career professional, but as a citizen.” He pauses, as if his thoughts are weighted down with the gravity of his convictions. “Madame Chairman, Mr. Vice Chairman, and other committee members, if confirmed, I pledge, not only to follow the law, but to go a step further and increase the trust between Congress and the DNI. In doing so, I will welcome any of your questions, and I invite you to hold me accountable, because our objective ought to be the same: to give the intelligence community all that it needs to succeed within the confines of our laws.”

Senator Ackerman graces him with a smile. “Your superiors have no doubt about that. In fact, let me read this letter from the outgoing Director of Intelligence, who has given you his full endorsement—I’m so sorry, I mean ‘
had
’ given. Unfortunately, General Benjamin Overton met with an unfortunate accident on his ranch this morning. The country, as a whole, mourns his loss deeply.”

Game. Set. Match.

Following her reading of the dearly departed’s letter, the rest of the committee—that is, everyone but C. Bright Kuley—applaud enthusiastically. Heck, why not? It’s easier to let loose with a joyous huzzah in front of the cameras than to actually read the damn report, let alone poke holes in it.

They are joined by nearly all of the hearing’s attendees.

Jack and I both need some fresh air. He pulls me off the floor, and out the back door, grumbling, “I can’t wait to get my hands on that report.”

I can, but I don’t say that to him. If Carl’s fantasy version has him wearing a humongous ten-gallon white hat, I can only imagine who will be portrayed as the bad guys.

He always did love me in black.

Chapter 3

Strangers on a Train

“I still think it would be wonderful to have a man love you so much he’d kill for you.”

—Patricia Hitchcock, as “Barbara Morton”

The tight halls, intimate cabins, curtained sleeping berths. The gentle clickity-clack and rhythmic thrusts of your iron horse’s steel wheels, as it makes its way down the tracks and into another tunnel of love. All of this has you shouting, “Yes—yes—YES!” to the question: “Can you still find romance on the rails?”

Of course—just like in the movies!

So that your journey is as satisfying as any you’ve seen on the big screen, make sure your ticket to ride includes:

1: An overnight journey. Sure, you could do the down-and-dirty in the time it takes the Capitol Limited to go from Washington D.C.’s Union Station to Baltimore’s Penn Station, but half the fun is getting there (the other half is the treasure chest of sex toys you’ve brought along) so sit back and enjoy the ride!

2: A private cabin. Sorry, but two coach seats on the subway just won’t cut it. No matter how much you loved
 Risky Business
, let’s face it: he’s no Tom Cruise and you, madam, are no Rebecca De Mornay, so get a room—on a real train.

3: A little roleplaying. For example, the man in your life can be Cary Grant helping you—his Eva Marie Saint—up into the top bunk berth. Too tame? Then assign him the role of “Stern Conductor” and you can be “Naughty Stowaway.”

Better yet, switch roles. Even he’ll concede that you look much better in that railway insignia cap and jacket when you’re also wearing fishnet stockings and stiletto heels.

And if you get into your roles, you can make your own movie.

The text message on my cell purrs, 
Last train from L’Enfant to Farragut West. Alone. —CS (The One And Only)

No. Oh, no….

Somehow Carl has hacked my cell phone, and now he wants to see me.

Now that he’s a shoo-in for full senate confirmation for the position of DI (apropos, considering he’s such a DICK to begin with), I presume he wants to wipe the slate clean between us.

“Is that Ryan?” Jack comes over from the couch, curious as to why all the blood has drained from my face.

We are in our room at the L’Enfant Plaza hotel. It’s now nine o’clock. We elected to have room service instead of going out to dinner, but neither of us has touched the food on our trays. The last seventy-two hours have been gruesome. Between the Yemen mission and today’s follies, we’re both dead on our feet.

“It’s not Ryan, but…er, Jeff. He wants to know if he can stay up late and watch the end of the Broncos game. I think I’ll let him. He’s been very good about his homework.”

“The Broncos, eh?” He smiles, but there is still curiosity in his eyes.

I click off my phone. “I’m jumping in the shower before Ryan gets here. I want to be bright-eyed and bushy-tailed for what he has to tell us about his dinner with Carl.” I make myself smile. “Care to join me?”

He thinks for a moment but finally shakes his head. “You go on ahead. I haven’t finished the Yemen report. It will be the cherry on the cake of Ryan’s day.”

“Maybe Ryan’s meeting with Carl is a good sign for Acme. I mean, isn’t it smarter to open all lines of communication, see if we can work out some sort of truce?” This might have sounded more believable if I hadn’t said it in the same voice I use when I’m trying to get the kids to do something they consider a fate worse than death.

Jack is copping the same attitude, only in his case he doesn’t even bother to argue. Instead, he pointedly ignores my hopelessly inane remark and goes back to writing his report.

I head to the shower, closing the door behind me.

I don’t want Jack to see me cry.

I’ve got to get all the fear out of my system.

I’ve got to get ready for battle.

Around ten-thirty, we hear a knock on our door. Jack gets up and looks out the peephole to confirm it’s Ryan, then he lets him in.

When it comes to showing emotions, Ryan rivals Mount Rushmore. Still, those of us who know him well have learned to read the smallest nuance in his stony demeanor. With a single blink, he telegraphs his disappointment. The tiny wrinkles around his eyes are hieroglyphics that spell danger. You can read the truth between his silences.

Jack and I watch as he belts back the scotch I offer him. When he finally speaks, it’s with dead eyes. “Not only are we on the chopping block, we may find ourselves in jail, too. Acme will be the victim of Carl’s witch hunt.”

A trickle of dread runs down my spine. “What do you mean by that?”

Ryan shrugs. “If you haven’t already guessed, the audit threat to quote-unquote, uncover attempts at treason is aimed at us.”

Jack grimaces. “If anyone is treasonous, it’s Carl. And we can prove it—if we’re ever given the chance. Will Chiffray at least listen to us?”

Ryan shakes his head. “He’s still not returning my calls. And Carl was certainly not pleased with my attempts to contact POTUS. Tonight, he made it quite clear that, as far as the intelligence community is concerned, all roads to Chiffray go through him. In the meantime, I’ve got Arnie battening down the hatches around our intel infrastructure.”

“Maybe a good night’s sleep will bring a solution.” Jack stifles a yawn. “What time does the Acme jet pull out for the west coast, boss?”

“Oh-nine-hundred.” Ryan puts down his glass and heads for the door. “We can talk more about a defense strategy when we’re airborne.”

Jack walks him to the door, and locks it behind him.

We undress in silence.

I’m relieved he’s too tired for sex. As for me, my body is energized—not for lovemaking, but for war.

I’ll be packing heat and an assassin’s blade.

I lay down beside Jack. Twenty minutes later, I hear his gentle snores.

Not a moment too soon. The L’Enfant Plaza Metro station is half a block away. Still, I’ll have to hurry to keep the rendezvous. Quietly as I can, I rise and slip on my jeans, a sweater, my winter coat and my boots, as well as a G42, a switchblade, and a serrated knife.

A girl’s got to accessorize, right?

Then I slip out of the room.

It’s up to me to keep Acme in play, no matter what it takes.

The last train leaves the L’Enfant Plaza Station at exactly eleven-fifty-seven.

When I get to the station, it’s empty. At least, that’s what I’m supposed to believe. But the moment I get on the escalator that takes me down to the Blue Line platform, a man in a suit steps on behind me. Before I reach the platform, another man appears out of the shadows.