The Housewife Assassin's Horrorscope

by Josie Brown

  For some reason, Jack is abstaining.

  He's also philosophic about this mission and our role in it. “We’re the knights on some grand political chess board! We carry out missions—subterfuge, exterminations, sabotage—upon the whim of a few political grandmasters! But sometimes they make the wrong call. And who pays for it? We do!”

  At first, I wasn’t going to drink either. But his diatribe is depressing me. I wave to the bartender, a hipster with the chin scruff to prove it.

  He nods and meanders over. “What can I get you?”

  “Make it interesting,” I mutter. “And make it potent.”

  “I’ve got just the thing.”

  A moment later he slides something in front of me.

  I take a sip. It reeks of potent, alright. “What’s it called?”

  “It’s a Backwards Point: Scotch, Cynar, and vermouth.”

  I nod. If I’m to get through Jack’s discourse on the life of a spy, I’ll need something to take the edge off my guilt.

  By the time I’ve downed it, Jack has moved on to his wariness about Edmonton. “I never thought I’d say this, but I think we’ve got a president even more conflicted than Lee. Worse yet, he’s conniving.”

  Oh, Jack—dear, sweet Jack: you don’t know the half of it.

  This time, when I wave the bartender over, it’s to request something stronger: something called a “flu cocktail”—rye, cognac, lime, ginger, and soda.

  I know I should take it slow, but then Jack adds, “Why would he have wanted Vera dead? Didn’t he know Lilith was right there in front of him all that time?”

  I want to shout at the top of my lungs: Yes, he knew!

  But if I do, I’ll lose Jack forever—if not to a bullet when he least expects it, then to a conviction rigged to make him Edmonton’s fall guy.

  And if neither of these takes him, his guilt over Vera might.

  As the bartender walks by, I mumble, “Let me try one of those Polish Octobers.” I point to it on the drink menu: Bison grass vodka, pear brandy, lemon, bitters, egg white, and soda.

  My stomach rumbles at the thought.

  Or maybe it’s telling me it wants food.

  At that thought, a wave of nausea washes over me.

  As I gulp for air and calm, Jack adds, “You were right, Donna.”

  “About…what?”

  Tenderly, Jack strokes my cheek. “About our lives now—that is, the rest of our lives. Maybe we should leave Acme and this whole crazy life of lies, murder, corruption—”

  It’s too late Jack. Edmonton saw to that.

  In no time, I’ve guzzled down the new drink set in front of me.

  It’s no fun drinking alone. Seeing the glass of water in Jack’s hand, I frown. “Still teetotaling?”

  He shrugs. “One of us has to be the designated driver, and my guess is Ryan won’t walk in whistling a happy tune.” He grins. “Hey, considering how ‘happy’ you’ve been, I’m surprised you haven’t already blabbed about what was said in your meeting with Edmonton.”

  My loud burp offsets my attempt at nonchalance. “It’s just that…well, I feel it’s best that we noodle through it with Ryan. That way, all three of us are on the same page as to our next move.”

  To shut Jack down from further nudging, I wave at the bartender, as if he’s a rescue plane in the middle of the South Pacific. “Sir…Oh, sir! One of those!” I point to the drink he’s about to serve to the woman on the stool behind Jack’s.

  The bartender winks. “A Banana Republic? Sure, I’m on it.”

  “He wants one too!” I point to Jack, who shakes his head adamantly.

  “Bourbon, vermouth, banana, allspice, bitters? I’ll take a pass,” he says firmly. “I refuse to join your unfettered bacchanal.” Suddenly, he nods toward the door. “Speak of the devil.”

  Who…Edmonton? Here?

  I follow his gaze to the front door. Ryan has just walked in. He isn’t smiling.

  On the upside, he isn’t frowning either.

  Spotting us, Ryan makes his way over, bobbing and weaving through the bar’s happy hour crowd.

  Jack stands. “Take my stool.”

  Ryan doesn’t hesitate. He eyes the Banana Republic that has just been placed in front of him and mutters, “This looks putrid.”

  “Considering Donna’s intake of numerous and varied spirits, the term is apt,” Jack warns him.

  Ryan slides the drink as far away as possible. Noting the bartender’s raised brow, he growls, “Scotch. Neat. Make it a double.”

  Ah, it’s going to be that kind of night.

  Hearing Ryan’s tone, I sober up enough to mumble, “Let me guess. POTUS canceled all of Acme’s contracts.”

  “On the contrary. Acme is safe.” Ryan leans in. “As long as I do POTUS’s bidding.”

  “And what is that?” Jack asks.

  “Take Branham’s place as Director of Intelligence.”

  It’s now Jack’s turn to signal the bartender. When Hipster Dude sidles over, Jack points to Ryan’s tumbler. “I’ll have what he’s having.”

  No need to let the extra Banana Republic go to waste. As I sip it, I ask, “Ryan, are you seriously considering the offer?”

  “Yes, for a variety of reasons—one of which is that it safeguards Acme.”

  Jack frowns. “Then, who will run Acme?”

  “I haven’t decided yet,” Ryan admits. “In the meantime, let’s not mention anything to the other operatives until I’ve made up my mind.”

  Jack and I nod.

  Then we down our drinks.

  I need to tell Ryan that Edmonton is Scorpio.

  But now that he’s in POTUS’s confidence, protocol dictates that he’d have to disclose the conversation.

  Doing so would also put Jack in jail. Worse yet, it may get him killed.

  It may get me killed too.

  Ryan gives me a sidelong gaze. “Hey, since Branham shut us down before you had a chance to tell us how your meeting went with POTUS, let’s hear it.”

  Okay sure, let me regale you with Edmonton’s offer—blackmail, really—to work at his side. Let me divulge his threat should I turn him down: that he’ll ruin Jack’s life—our lives—if I don’t do his bidding…

  All of it.

  Jack nods toward Ryan. “You promised, Mrs. Craig. Well, our fearless leader is here now, so spill your guts.”

  Suddenly, I do just that—

  Onto Jack’s feet.

  Ryan stares down at the mess before him: Jack’s shoes and my life.

  “Craigs, we have a long plane ride ahead of us. I’ll take care of the bill while you go clean up.”

  DC’s rush hour traffic gives me plenty of time to tell them the god-awful truth.

  Instead, I opt for an embellished half-truth: “POTUS offered me a job too—that of ‘Senior Security Advisor to the President.’”

  Hearing this Jack stops short. The truck behind us startles us with an indignant blare of its horn. When we’re once again a safe distance in front of it, Jack growls, “Just when were you going to tell me about this, Donna?”

  “I told you! I wanted to wait until the three of us were together.”

  “Did you commit to taking the job?” Ryan turns around so that he can look me in the eye: a downward angle since my hangover headache has me prostrate on the back seat.

  I’m too ashamed to look him in the face, so I close my eyes as I murmur, “Yes.”

  “You told POTUS you’d take it without speaking to me first? Well, so much for ‘the three of us noodling through any dilemma’.” Jack retorts. “Let alone the two of us! And, what about the kids?”

  “I…I don’t feel any need to uproot them! Not now, anyway.”

  “How considerate.”

  I flinch at Jack’s sarcasm.

  No one talks during the rest of the drive.

  When we get to the airport, security peruses our credentials and waves us through onto the tarmac.

  Ryan gets out quickly. He walks over t
o George Taylor, Acme’s pilot, who is doing an exterior inspection.

  As I open the door, Jack says, “You can still say no.” Through the rearview mirror, his eyes catch mine.

  “Jack…I…I can’t.”

  Oh, how I wish I could…

  He closes his eyes.

  Jack sits up in the cockpit with George. A pilot himself, Jack enjoys any opportunity to discuss flight patterns, coordinates, and equipment.

  In this case, it also gives him a reason to avoid me.

  Now that my husband is out of earshot, Ryan asks, “Why did you say yes to Edmonton?”

  “I'm sorry, Ryan. I can’t tell you.”

  “You did it because POTUS has something on Jack,” Ryan insists.

  I nod. “But…that’s not all.”

  “He’s got something on you too,” he guesses.

  “No! You see…I’ve got something on him.”

  Ryan lets that sink in. Then: “You’re right. This is not a conversation to have with me—or with Jack. At least, not now. But you should have it with someone as soon as possible.” He places his hand on top of mine. “Lee.”

  I nod.

  He’s right. Lee will know what to do.

  22

  Grand Trine

  [Donna’s horoscope today]

  * * *

  In astrology, a “grand trine” occurs when three planets form a triangle.

  This is a period of harmony. Creativity flows freely. Confidence is at its strongest.

  Take a moment to study your astrological chart. Is there a grand trine in your future?

  If so, take time to recognize and appreciate those who support and inspire you. Two in particular will play important roles during your grand trine.

  You may ask yourself: “Wouldn’t it be wonderful if my life were always in a grand trine?”

  If only!

  If only we were never faced with adversity.

  If only conflict didn’t put us and those we hold dearly in peril.

  Ironically, to live a full life, we must be challenged. We must survive the tribulations put in our path.

  All the more reason to choose your friends wisely.

  “Your mother has important news!” Jack’s declaration is made to the children and Aunt Phyllis just as the family sits down to breakfast.

  Somehow he’s been able to sustain the bland look that’s been on his face since we left Washington.

  On the car ride back to Dulles and on the plane ride home, he didn’t utter a word to either Ryan or me.

  Ryan kept mute too. Maybe it’s for the best. Soon Ryan may not be my boss, but he’s still my friend. As such, I will follow his wise words and seek out Lee.

  While in transit, I texted Lee with Ryan’s suggestion:

  * * *

  I’d love to stop by for a chat tomorrow. You available, oneish?

  * * *

  He wrote back:

  Always at your beck and call.

  Before, I’d laugh whenever Lee used that phrase. Now I shudder. It’s how Edmonton sees my role in our new relationship.

  When Acme’s plane landed in LA, Jack kept up the silent treatment.

  With Aunt Phyllis camped out in the guest room, he had no alternative but to sleep in Evan’s bedroom.

  I wonder if his night was as sleepless as mine. For hours, I paced the floor, working out what I should say to him;

  Deciding what I’d say to our children.

  Well, now the time has come.

  Jack’s exclamation has put my children on high alert. When they turn to me, their faces reflect their anticipation. Mary seems intrigued. Jeff, wary, winces. Only Trisha greets the news with a smile—

  Which quickly fades when I say, “I’ve been asked by the President to take a position in his administration. I think it is best that I do so.”

  Otherwise, we may lose your father.

  I can’t go through that again. I know you can’t either.

  All mouths drop open.

  Aunt Phyllis chokes on her coffee.

  “Mom—we can’t move! Not now!” Mary is adamant. “This is my senior year! I can’t just get up and leave!”

  “I didn’t say I was moving the family across the country. I said I’d be going.” The words stick in my throat.

  “But…when will we see you?” The anguish in Trisha’s question brings tears to my eyes.

  “I’ll be home as often as possible—on weekends.”

  Jeff shifts his gaze to Jack. “Are you going too?”

  “No,” Jack says firmly. He does his best to smile. “You’re stuck with me.”

  Trisha jumps up to hug Jack. “Not to worry, Mom. If Janie can look after her father, I can take care of Dad.”

  “Hey, that’s my job!” Phyllis insists. “I’m here—and always will be—for all of you.”

  Hearing this, Trisha’s eyes open wide. Jeff chokes down a snicker with a gulp of juice, whereas Mary closes her eyes in silent prayer.

  Jack kisses Aunt Phyllis’s forehead. Then he leaves the table.

  A moment later, I hear his car pulling out of the garage.

  He’s headed to Acme without me.

  Ryan will be making his big announcement today.

  Despite Aunt Phyllis’s help in dropping off Mary and Jeff, my detour to Trisha’s school makes me later to Acme than I’d hoped.

  When I walk in, the whole staff is already gathered in the handler pit. The crowd is thick enough that I don’t see Jack.

  Maybe that’s for the best. No one else needs to see him give me the silent treatment.

  All talk stops as Ryan’s office door opens. He steps out, followed by Jack, who strides to one side of the wall behind Ryan. The tension that doesn’t appear on Jack’s face can be seen in his clenched fist. If he attempted to talk Ryan out of his decision to leave Acme, he must have failed.

  “Now that we’re all here, people, I have some important news. Good news—for Acme, and I hope, for the country too.” Ryan scans the room. Catching my eye, he attempts a smile. “I’ve been offered the position of US Director of Intelligence.”

  The silence that seems to last a lifetime is finally broken by a thunderclap of applause.

  Above it all, I hear Arnie whoop, “ALRIGHT! YES! GOODNESS PREVAILS!”

  If only that were true…

  “But I leave you in good hands. Replacing me as Acme’s Director and Chief Intelligence Officer is Jack Craig.”

  No…

  Can’t be! Jack doesn’t want it! He wants to leave it all behind…

  At least, he did when I was willing to go with him…

  FUCK!

  This announcement is met with a second round of applause. Jack moves forward. By now he’s actually permitted himself to smile. “I’m honored and humbled by your reaction. Here at Acme, Ryan has built more than a team. He’s made us a family.” He nods as he scans the room. “And as such we will keep to the prime objective as he has always stated it: We will only work for those who seek to strengthen democracy in our world. Our missions aren’t the result of an agenda, but a vision to right grievous wrongs. We have each other’s back. And above all, we trust each other.”

  Jack is telling me he no longer trusts me.

  Why should he? He knows I’m lying to him.

  All of Acme surges forward to shake his hand.

  Not me. I push my way to the exit.

  I’ve got to get out of here.

  Lee laughs as he greets me at the door. He makes an exaggerated attempt to look at his watch: “Are you still on Greenwich Mean Time? You do know you’re a couple of hours early, right?”

  “If only I could set back my life!” I grumble.

  Seeing my scowl, Lee puts an arm around my shoulder. “It’s a bit early—heck, it’s not even lunchtime, but you look as if you could use a drink.”

  After yesterday, the thought of anything that smells of alcohol or fruit—or worse yet, alcohol and fruit—makes me want to heave. “That’s the last thing I want!”
I shrug. “Are you up for a walk?”

  He smiles. “I’d love that. Hey, do you mind if I take Harrison along?”

  “Not at all.”

  He leaves me in the foyer while he trots to the nursery. A few minutes later, he’s got the toddler in a chest carrier. In his jeans, sleeveless vest jacket, sunglasses and beanie, he could be any father on his way to a local park.

  Sadly, we won’t leave his twenty-acre estate, and his Secret Service detail will follow a few discreet yards behind us.

  Just another way in which Lee is held captive by the position that changed his life forever.

  Maybe what I tell him will allow him to appreciate the fact he got out with any life at all.

  As we walk, I talk.

  I tell him everything:

  How Elle, embedded stateside decades ago by Russia, built an identity that allowed her to rise to the height of power.

  And how her compatriot, Bradley Edmonton, did the same.

  I explain how Operation Flame was a diversion obscuring a bigger agenda: the launch of Horoscope, the laser weapon Lee killed when he was our president.

  Hearing this, Lee’s face loses all color. “From what you’re telling me, it would have been built and launched anyway.”

  I nod.

  “And since it was being launched covertly, it violates the Outer Space Treaty,” he realizes. “The whole world—not to mention its target, our closest ally—would have every reason to believe it was a deliberate act of war.”

  “And Russia would come off as a benevolent ally,” I add.

  I also describe how Acme was able to track down the others whom Elle and Arthur turned into traitors.

  Then, with a deep breath, I remind him of Edmonton’s private meeting with Jack, here at Lion’s Lair. “He tasked Jack with tracking down Lilith, but he knowingly led him to the wrong person.”

  “So Lilith is still at large?” Lee asks.

  “No.” I sigh. With what I say next, I put Jack’s life in Lee’s hands: “When Jack discovered this travesty, he took the law into his own hands. Lee, Elle Grisham was Lilith. Jack killed her.”