Killer Christmas Tips (9 page)

In Arabic, the bodyguard is telling his boss that we will be landing in five minutes. He wants to know if there is anything we need.

Melmud is about to say something when I hiss, “Don’t answer!” I reach for my satellite phone. This time I dial Arnie direct.

When he picks up, I whisper frantically, “I need you to dial Melmud’s bodyguard as if it’s coming from Melmud, and give him a message.”

Arnie pauses. “Why would I do that?”

“Because I’m in the middle of interrogating this creep, and the guard is standing right outside the door! I can’t have Melmud answer him out loud. He’s in a trance! No telling what he might say! I need the guard to get a text message telling him to scram! But to be authentic, it’ll have to be in Arabic, and my bandwidth doesn’t stretch that far.”

“Don’t worry, piece of cake. And I’ll make sure the caller ID will show Melmud’s phone. Just text me what you want it to say.”

I think for a moment before sending him this:

While she is smart and beautiful and surely would make a fine and pious mother, I still have my doubts that this woman is a natural blonde. I am testing my theory now. If the door is still closed when we land, no one is to disturb us! When I am done, I will meet you by the limo. Allah willing, my bride is flaxen and therefore worthy to accompany us to Montecito. Oh, by the way, the next time Oprah’s dogs take a dump in the yard, shoot them.

The chirp outside the door tells me the bodyguard has gotten Arnie’s message. A moment later I hear Melmud’s thug murmur, “Yes, General,” in Arabic, before trudging back to the cockpit.

I breathe a sigh of relief. “Thanks, Arnie.”

“Glad it did the trick. But, Donna, what the heck was that stuff about Oprah’s dogs?”

“I needed to add a tinge of authenticity to the message. Trust me, it did the trick.”

I click off and shake Melmud back into interrogation mode. “Tell me, quick. Where is the shipment from Libya right now?”

“The Quorum infidels would not tell me. To hide this knowledge from me, they spoke in French. But they did not realize I speak it, too. All I know is that it is coming in by ship. From a toymaker.” A sly smile rises on his lips. “And by the way, the female infidel really did have a butt like Pippa. But by her amorous moves with her partner, I am guessing she is no virgin.”

Valentina’s a slut, and Carl enjoys it? No surprise there. And for the record, this dude has no idea what he’s talking about. No way does her bum look better than mine!

His cruel cackle puts me back on task. “Why should I care, anyway, when the cargo arrives? The less I know about it, the better. I’ve worked too hard establishing my excellent new identity as a successful self-help guru from Dubai. I’m working on my book now. It is called 
Don’t Worry, Be Happy: Six Must-Do Moves to Being a Better You
. I have no doubt it will be a sure-fire bestseller! I will leave it in Oprah’s mailbox, and she will love it and build a whole television network around its teachings.” Obviously, the truth drug has made him delusional. “I love Oprah. And I love Julia Louis-Dreyfus. Did you know she lives nearby? I love Seinfeld, too. I wonder if he ever visits Elaine.”

I hear the vibration of the plane’s wheels dropping. Time to wrap up our little tête-a-tête, and it couldn’t come a second sooner. Hanging out with this guy is driving me nuts.

I force him to sip again from his glass.  A moment later, he drifts off to sleep. By the time Melmud’s bodyguard shakes him awake, I’ll be just a pleasant memory.

I’ll also be brunette again, and long gone.

The plane’s landing is smooth as silk. As planned, Jack is there waiting on the tarmac. The credentials he presents to the flight crew and the bodyguard identify him as the field office director of the Santa Barbara County branch of the United States Citizenship and Immigration Services.

The bodyguard turns white under his swarthy tan. The last thing he wants is for the USCIS to question him about his passport, or Melmud’s, for that matter.

On the other hand, he’ll gladly step aside so that Jack can take me off the plane in handcuffs. Here’s a shocker. Turns out, I’m not a virgin after all. Apparently, “Nadia” has run away from her husband, a Muslim jeweler based in Moscow.

“Your boss is bereft,” Jack tells the bodyguard. “He asks that you not disturb him. He said something about five salads.”

The guard eyes open wide. “No, he means ‘
salats
.’ He wants to pray.”

This means only one thing. The Self Help Guru Formerly Known as the  Muammar’s Mutilator is very upset that his life-size Barbie wasn’t the fantasy bride he’d hoped for.

“Learn anything?” Jack asks, as we roar off in his Lamborghini.

“Yes. It’s coming in by ship.” Talk about a needle in a haystack. “Also, I now know why Qaddafi’s regime was so dysfunctional.”

“Do you think it might’ve had something to do with the fact he was a nut?”

“No doubt that’s a big part of it. But it turns out we Americans were the real cause of his downfall.”

“Sure we were. We played an important if somewhat covert role in aiding and abetting the rebels.”

“Nope, I mean even before the Arab Spring. You see, Muammar’s generals watched too much American television. To them, life is a series of self-help aphorisms culled from daytime talk shows. They also think sitcom characters are real.”

“So do most Americans. So I guess we truly are a global village.” Jack shakes his head sadly. Then his eyes light up. “Oh, wow, that reminds me. 
The Big Bang Theory
 is on tonight!”

“You’ll have to catch it on demand. Have you forgotten the Oprah special airs tonight? She’s interviewing Pippa Middleton! I’m sure as heck 
not
 going to miss that.”

Jack sighs appreciatively. “Speaking of Pippa, did anyone ever tell you your butt looks a lot like hers?”

When I punch his arm, he almost drives off the Pacific Coast Highway.

Chapter 9

Santa Etiquette

Despite the inevitable reindeer turds on the roof and the soot and ashes that fall onto the carpet as the big man clamors down the chimney, everyone happily welcomes the jolly old elf into their homes.

Refreshments are certainly in order. Tradition dictates cookies and milk, but why not be a little more imaginative? Certainly Kris Kringle would find a chocolate pot de crème a welcomed change of pace, especially if served with brandy-laced coffee.

Will he bring everything on your wish list? Probably not. With some gentle reminders, he’ll certainly remember to do so the following year. 

Finding a reindeer head on his pillow might just do the trick.

Based on Melmud’s truthiness, Arnie is able to hack into the Port of Los Angeles’s computer system and begins monitoring toy company shipments due in from all over the world.

It’s a heck of a lot of work, since Port of LA is the busiest container port in the world, processing close to eight million shipments each year.

“There are around thirty toy companies based in Southern California who manufacture overseas, then distribute from warehouses based at their corporate headquarters,” Ryan points out to our mission team. “Not to mention that every major toy store in the region also accepts toy shipments from out-of-region toy manufacturers. Emma, while Arnie flags the port’s shipping schedules based on that criteria, I’m putting you on the task of deciphering Jonah Breck’s personal emails for any leads on Quorum operatives.”

As Emma nods solemnly, Arnie shoots her a thumbs-up. My guess is that he suggested she be shifted to that project. Great idea, since the sooner we learn the whereabouts of the Quorum’s leadership, agents, and operatives, the sooner we can wipe out the biggest terrorist organization in the world.

“What about the rest of us?” asks Jack.

“You and Abu will be inspecting every shipment flagged by Arnie. I’ve already arranged jobs for you as cargo inspectors. Jack, your first twelve-hour shift is tonight, from nine to nine. Abu will take the next twelve hours.”

Abu makes a face. I know why. He got Ryan to sign off on his cupcake truck, but a daytime shift takes him out of commission for all the prime-time sugar fixes.

I’m almost afraid to ask, but I have to. “Ryan, what about me?”

He shrugs. “Just sit tight for now. I’m sure something will come up.”

He’s right. It always does.

In our line of work, that’s not necessarily a good thing.

Last night was Jack’s seventh on the night shift.

The bad news: we’ve put off decorating our Christmas tree until this assignment is over.

The 
really
 bad news: Of the fifty-six cargo hulls listed as containing toys inspected by Jack and Abu, none have carried the Libyan arsenal.

Everyone at Acme is getting antsy.

The only thing good that has come out of this assignment is that Jack and I get to loll around in bed all day. Half the time Jack is sleeping while I putter around the house. But when he wakes up, the fun begins. Afternoon delight may be its one and only benefit, but it’s a good one.

Until, like now, it’s time to pick Trisha up from school.

As I leap out of bed, the sheet goes with me. It’s obvious to both of us that Jack is not finished with me. He looks me over with that slow, sly grin of his. “What’s the rush? Come back to bed.”

“I can’t. Kindergarten lets out in forty-five minutes.” I smile down at him. “That barely leaves me time for a shower, and certainly no time for what you’ve got in mind.”

“I can be quick.”

I can’t help but snicker. “What’s the fun in that?”

He shrugs. I’ve got him there.

I rummage through the sheet for my panties. “And by the way, Hayley is dropping Jeff here after basketball practice. I’m taking Trisha to the mall after school.”

“Which one this time?”

“The Grove. The Santa there has won awards for his authenticity.”

“Donna, enough already! Get it through that thick, albeit pretty, skull of yours. Trisha has quit believing.”

“She’s too young to quit anything, let alone Santa. What’s next, ballet? Will she be giving up pink tutus? Do you see where this is leading?” Yes, I’m hyperventilating now.

He shakes his head in disbelief. “Why can’t you let it go?”

“Because she’s not even six yet! And because life is too short! And because… well, just because—”

By now I’m sobbing too hard to continue.

He shushes me, pulls me down into the bed, and cradles me in his arms. “Because she’s the last of your children who might still believe.”

I can’t speak, but I can nod. Yes, of course he’s right. She’s my baby. When she no longer buys into the myth, I’ll have to accept that her innocence is gone too.

I’ve seen what takes its place. Doubt. Distrust. Fear.

I never want my children to be afraid of anything.

“Maybe you’re right. Maybe the right guy in a red suit and beard will convince her that this is a magical time of year. So okay, take off with her. And don’t worry about Mary. She and I already have plans to hang out together.”

I know he’s just saying this to make me feel better. Well, it’s working. To show my appreciation, I stroke his two o’clock shadow. “Lately, you two have been thick as thieves. What’s this surprise you’re plotting?”

“We’ve got the perfect plan to offset Trevor’s infatuation with you. Give us another week, and it’ll be a thing of the past.”

“The sooner the better. Nothing I say convinces her I’m not trying to hone in on her boyfriend.”

“I think she’s finally coming to that conclusion.” His smile promises some silly secret. “Trust me.”

“I always do.” I follow this declaration with a laugh, but even to me, it sounds as hollow as a ghost.

Valentina is the apparition who stands between us.

I jump up out of bed and head for the shower, where I’ll wash off the dampness of our lust, and the residue of my lingering doubts about him. Had I known about his relationship with Valentina from the beginning, would I still feel this way?

At this point, I’ll never know. Once burned, twice shy.

He may want to blame Carl’s betrayal for my reticence, but the truth of the matter is that Jack should have laid all his cards on the table, once he told me he loved me.