The Housewife Assassin's Horrorscope

by Josie Brown

  “Then, that will be me. I’m heading to Manhattan Beach. I have to break the news to Mary Ann about Vera.”

  “Mind if I join you? She may like to learn the fate of some of the others, too—especially Lilith and Arthur.”

  “I’m sure she’d be happy to meet you.”

  Jack stands still as I hold the blow-dryer to his shirt and pants until they are dry again.

  He then follows me onto the balcony and over to the next one.

  The maid has done an excellent job with the room. Two plush robes hang in the closet. We put them on before sauntering out the door to the elevator. Our embrace allows us to avoid the halls’ security camera.

  The lobby is just as busy as I left it. We walk down the hall toward the entrance of the pool. When we turn a corner blind to the surveillance cameras, we shed our robes, depositing them in a bin before walking out the fire exits. Separately, we walk in the opposite direction of our cars before circling back around to them.

  Will someone notice the security footage of some strange man walking into one fourth-floor suite and then out another? Will they also realize that it was the suite in which the Congresswoman from Iowa was discovered dead of a heart attack?

  Hopefully, not before we convince Arnie to scrub it of our presence. Maybe a potpie will assuage any doubt that it’s the right thing to do.

  And yeah, okay, I’ll throw in a few pancakes.

  Mary Ann is not alone.

  Despite this, she beckons us into her home, shaking Jack’s hand warmly when I introduce them.

  Tommy sits outside on one of the backyard chaises. His eyes are closed, and his face is tilted toward the sun.

  I get right to the point: “Vera is dead.”

  Tears scrim Mary Ann’s eyes. “I know. Tommy went there last night. When she didn’t answer her door, he made enough of a ruckus that the neighbors called the police. For once they listened to him when he insisted they open the door.” Her shoulders slump. “Her body…it had been several days since her heart attack.”

  I put my arms around her. She melts into them.

  Finally, she breaks away. As she breathes deeply, I say, “I have some good news too.”

  She guffaws. “Boy, could I use some!”

  I nod at Jack. His kill, his news—not that Mary Ann needs to hear the particulars.

  “Lilith is dead,” he says. “So is the class’s instructor, Arthur Yates.”

  It takes a moment for this news to sink in. The realization comes with a ghost of a smile. “There is a God after all!”

  “Mary Ann, please—can you now tell us who Scorpio is?”

  She shakes her head adamantly. “Not while he’s still alive! If he ever found out…” Her voice trails off. “Except for Tommy, everyone I’ve ever cared about is now gone. Donna, this isn’t just about my survival! If Scorpio came after me, even if Tommy weren’t on his radar, eventually Scorpio would discover he’s still alive too.” Her eyes open wide. “I almost forgot—I have something for you! When Tommy showed up, he had this on him.”

  She walks over to a bookcase. From its lower shelf, she pulls out a notebook. “I think the equation on the last page may be of interest to you. Tommy remembered he changed the code in the software that initiates the laser’s kill shot.” She hands it to me. “By the way, I hope you don’t mind. I made a suggestion on how the code could be further altered.”

  “Will it completely immobilize the laser?” I ask.

  “Oh, no.” She grins impishly. “It’ll still light up the sky—but only with the words, Universal Peace.”

  We’re still laughing as she walks us out the door.

  “Have you seen the news this morning?” Ryan’s call, to both my phone and Jack’s, comes in much too early the next morning.

  And, since he’s not one to mince words, we know we don’t have to wait for the punchline: “Jacob Grommet committed suicide.”

  It’s not the one we expected. But hey, it’ll do.

  “Not surprising,” I counter. “He knew too much, and he was too volatile to keep in play.”

  “No arguments there,” Ryan concedes. “Oh! And, another item of interest: Congresswoman Grisham succumbed of a heart attack. It happened yesterday, here in LA.”

  “Oh…” I do my best to sound alarmed as the other shoe drops. “But, she wasn’t that old, was she?”

  “Forty-something,” Ryan replies. “By the way, did you know she was a Stanford grad?”

  “I…had no idea.” I’m still praying my reaction is worthy of an Oscar nod. “Jack? How about you?”

  “A lot of movers and shakers have come out of that school,” he adds blithely. “I’m sure her colleagues will miss her dearly.”

  If any are left.

  “May she rest in peace,” Ryan mutters. “By the way, Branham wants a briefing as soon as possible on all operations.”

  “I’ll write up the reports on Horoscope and Flame today,” I promise.

  “No need. He wants to do it face to face. We leave for DC in two hours.”

  I stifle a groan.

  “Jack, I assume your mission is over as well.” Ryan knows better than to ask anything else.

  “Affirmative,” Jack replies.

  “You’re welcome to come along for the ride.” This is Ryan’s way of saying that Branham wants to hear about Lilith in person.

  “Sure, what the heck. DC is always a joy in January.”

  Jack’s sarcasm is not lost on Ryan. He chuckles as he clicks off.

  20

  Scorpio

  Scorpio is the sun sign for anyone born between October 22nd and November 23rd.

  Scorpio is a passionate person. You’ll also note that he has a charismatic personality!

  Of course, both of these traits have their dark sides. Vengeance comes easy—sometimes to the point of self-destruction. Remember the fable of the scorpion and the frog? Yeah, like that.

  Let me put it this way: fascinating folk, for sure. But get too close, you may get stung.

  “Next stop, Liberty Crossing,” Ryan declares.

  He’s referring to Branham’s office, which is located in LX2 of the Liberty Crossing Intelligence Campus, in McLean, Virginia.

  On the seven-hour flight to DC, conversation was kept to a minimum. But now that we’re a mere mile from our designated exit off VA 267E, Ryan is eyeing us warily. I don’t think he likes being left out of the loop, or waiting to hear what we disclose to his superiors without it first having been vetted by him.

  At the same time, he knows our silence gives him plausible deniability.

  Like him, we want to protect Acme at all costs.

  My phone buzzes softly. I look down to read the message just received. It’s from Emma:

  POTUS requests YOU meet him in the Oval.

  I shake my head. “We have to take a detour first. POTUS wishes to see me.”

  Jack and Ryan turn to stare at me.

  Neither of their phones was sent the same request. The message here: Edmonton wishes to see me alone.

  “Great to see you again, Mrs. Craig.” Mario Martinez meets me in front of 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue’s iconic rotunda, which faces the White House’s South Lawn.

  By the time I shake his hand, Jack and Ryan’s car has already been directed to one of the parking spaces further down the drive.

  Somehow, I’m able to lift a smile that isn’t quivering on my lips. “I was surprised by the President’s invitation.”

  “He got word you were in town, so the timing of his request worked out,” Mario replies.

  He knew I was in town? How?

  And what will he be ‘requesting’?

  The rest of the journey to the Oval Office is made in silence. Mario and I pass through several security checkpoints. Armies of aides scurry about; many new faces. In fact, I don’t recognize any from my many visits when Lee was president.

  Edmonton has cleaned house.

  He has good reason to surround himself with only those who are loyal
to him. Too many of us have reasons to doubt his allegiance to anyone but himself.

  “Ah, Mrs. Craig! Always a pleasure!” Edmonton stands to greet me. In fact, he goes as far as walking to one of the two facing sofas in front of his mammoth desk. As he sits down, he pats it. “Please, have a seat.”

  Do I have a choice as to where? I guess not.

  If I had, heck, I wouldn’t even be in this room.

  While he waits until I get settled, his eyes never leave me. His thin grin never fades. It may only be a few minutes but it seems like an hour before he finally speaks:

  “You were there when Arthur Yates took his poison pill.”

  How would he know this?

  Edmonton shrugs my stunned silence. “Not to worry. Your people did as instructed and scrubbed the facility’s security footage. How were you to know there was also an unrelated surveillance camera inside Arthur’s suite?”

  “So, the CIA already knew of his actions?” I ask.

  Edmonton’s laughter rings through the oval office. “Now, wouldn’t that have been an interesting twist to this sordid little tale!”

  Suddenly, it dawns on me: Russia would have never let Arthur go. Not as long as his assets were still in play.

  Not while he was alive.

  Not as long as he was still a loose end in Russia’s web of embedded spies.

  But there’s still one traitor left:

  Scorpio.

  I lay my hand on his chest, between the first and second button of his white oxford shirt.

  He’s not surprised, let alone offended. In fact, he smiles.

  I slip two fingers around the second button. When it’s undone, I pull out a chain.

  It holds a charm: the sun sign, Scorpio.

  Bradley Edmonton.

  I rise, but Edmonton grabs me by my arm and jerks me down again, closer this time. “Only those operatives with vast knowledge of our past successes and current missions were given L-Pills. As for the horoscope talismans—well, they were Arthur’s personal touch.”

  So, now I know.

  I shrug at the irony of it all. “In your position, Scorpio, you’d have certainly earned yours too.”

  Edmonton cackles. “Mrs. Craig, you are too smart for your own good!” He stops, angrily hissing, “But not smart enough to have realized this before now.” He grabs my hair and yanks me so close that we’re face to face. “Otherwise, you wouldn’t be sitting here now. You and your husband—your family—would have all disappeared.”

  “We would have never run,” I retort.

  Okay, maybe. But telling him so gives us cover if and when the time comes.

  “Foolish bitch! I mean you would have been exterminated.” He leans back, but he holds firm to my wrist. “Instead, I have greater plans for you—and you’ll agree to them. Or else, Jack will be tried for treason.”

  I pull away from him. “On what grounds?”

  “The murder of U.S. Congresswoman Elle Grisham.” He lets that sink in.

  “She died of natural causes,” I point out.

  He wags a finger at me. “We both know that’s not true.”

  Edmonton had her room bugged too.

  Fuck.

  Edmonton peers into my eyes and then crows, “Thank you for the confirmation! Up until now, it was just a guess on my part. You see? Already our little partnership is paying off.”

  “Partnership?” I frown. “What do you mean by that?”

  His eyes run over me. “Congratulations, Donna. You’re now the newest member of the White House staff.”

  “Oh yeah?” The thought is so ludicrous that I can’t help but smirk. “In what capacity am I to serve?”

  Edmonton jerks me close. As he runs his finger over my cheek, he whispers, “Any. All. As you so preciously put it, you’ll be totally at my beck and call.”

  His mouth finds mine. In no time his tongue separates my lips, probing deep into my throat.

  I try my best not to gag. A harder reflex to squelch is the urge to bite his tongue in half.

  Finally, he pulls away. He shrugs. “You’ll learn to like it. All of it.”

  I’ve been duly warned.

  Noting my silence, he adds, “If you must have an official capacity, we’ll call you ‘Senior Security Advisor to the President.’ That should keep tongues from wagging.”

  All but yours, unless it finds its way into my mouth again.

  He leans in as if he’s got a secret to tell: “Frankly, Jack did me a favor. You see, Lilith was somewhat greedy. She insisted that I make her my vice president before the upcoming election.” He shudders at the thought. “Could you imagine having that viperous slut down the hall from me? How long do you think it would have taken before she set me up for…well, I don’t know—perhaps treason?” His eyes dance at the thought. “Or maybe she’d have had me killed.”

  I could see the attraction to that theory.

  His fingers move down over my body. I resist any urge to move, to give him the pleasure of seeing me scared or angry.

  Certainly not turned on.

  Disappointed, he mutters, “You’re dismissed, Mrs. Craig.”

  I do my best to walk out with my head held high.

  “What did POTUS want?” The question comes from Ryan, not Jack. My husband has already read the answer on my face: I’ve been asked to pay the price for his unsanctioned deed.

  Because a half-truth is not a lie, it is much easier to tell: “He has his suspicions about Lilith’s death,” I admit. “Let’s see Branham.”

  Ryan nods. “He’s waiting for us now.”

  As Jack starts the car’s engine, he catches my eye in the rearview mirror.

  I look away.

  The ride to McLean is made in silence.

  Now is not the time to tell Jack and Ryan that the President of the United States is a traitor.

  When it is—say, within the next hour—it should make for an interesting topic of conversation.

  21

  Opposition

  [Donna’s horoscope today]

  * * *

  An “opposition” is when planets are exactly opposite each other in the astrological chart wheel.

  As with the rest of life, oppositions create stress, anxiety, and heartache.

  It can happen when your beloved lies to you.

  And when your children disobey you.

  And when you learn what horrible things your best friend has been saying about you behind your back.

  Time to put things in perspective! And by that, I don’t mean you should divorce your beloved. Or, disinherit your children.

  And no need to ruin your former friend’s life with a manifesto that quotes all of her other vicious remarks about others.

  Instead, work to heal these rifts before slights and misunderstandings grow even more significant and ruin the universe you’ve worked so hard to create.

  Can’t we all just get along?

  Let’s make love, not war—

  For the next twenty minutes, anyway.

  “My thanks to Acme for its success in annihilating Horoscope,” Marcus Branham says. “It was no easy feat, considering what you were up against.”

  Ryan smiles. “Arnie has informed me that the code modification to Universal Peace went undetected. Besides destroying all previous versions of Horoscope, now any further attempts to modify the code will lead to a net-worm infiltration, providing us with a back door to the servers involved.”

  “Brilliant,” Branham murmurs. “And the perfect finale to my career.”

  I frown. “I beg your pardon, sir?”

  “You heard correctly. In fact, you’re the first to hear the news.” Branham shrugs. “POTUS has requested that I come to the Oval, which I’ll do immediately after this meeting. I have it on good authority that he will ask for my resignation.”

  I’m sure the emotions playing out on my face mirror those on Jack and Ryan’s: Shock. Despair. Anger.

  Finally, Ryan nods. “You’ll be sorely missed.”
r />   “Thank you.” There is a heaviness in both men’s voices.

  “Then I guess we should fill you in as soon as possible about other recent developments,” Jack says.

  Branham shakes his head. “At this point, I’d rather you didn’t. As with Horoscope and Flame, I’d have to forward a summary report with any additional intelligence to my successor—someone chosen because the president has his allegiance.”

  In other words, keep what we know to ourselves.

  Even if it proves that POTUS is an enemy operative?

  If Acme can’t trust the next Director of Intelligence, who can we trust?

  Hell, I’ve got to say something—to all of them—

  But then Ryan’s phone buzzes.

  He glances at the screen. What he reads has him sitting up ramrod straight. He frowns. “I’ve just been asked to go to the White House.”

  We’re all stunned into silence.

  Edmonton is going to dissolve Acme.

  He’ll ask Congress to conduct a formal hearing, call for an investigation based on what he knows about Jack’s rogue extermination, and then threaten to jail Acme’s operatives for following through on Horoscope and Flame despite having sanctioned them.

  In Jack’s case, the deaths of two women—one an elected official—will earn him a death sentence before we can prove Elle was a foreign operative.

  And we’ll have to convince the world that Edmonton is the real foreign operative.

  Ryan turns to Marcus. “Since we’re going to the same place, mind if I hitch a ride?”

  Marcus smiles weakly. “I’d welcome the company.”

  Ryan tosses the car keys to Jack. “Take Donna to an early happy hour.”

  He knows me all too well.

  Hmmm. I should keep my wits about me. I may say something I'll later regret.

  We’re camped out on the last two stools in the Morris American Bar on 7th Street. The place is known for its craft cocktails.