The Housewife Assassin's Hostage Hosting Tips

by Josie Brown

  Ryan nods. “I imagine at least one security officer came with each of them?”

  “Yes. But I presume they have already been killed,” Walther points out.

  From the looks on the faces in the room, no one else doubts this.

  “Okay, first things first,” Ryan says. “We’ll need to break the cell transmission block. Find Abu and Dominic in the lobby and fill them in as well.”

  I’m relieved to know we’ve got some backup elsewhere in the building.

  Arnie nods. “It’s doable, but it won’t be easy.”

  “Try your damnedest,” Ryan growls. “We also need you to cut the video transmission feed they’ve set up. We can’t let the world see beheadings taking place on U.S. soil.”

  “My guess is that the antenna for its transmission feed is coming from somewhere outside the building. If so, it can’t be jammed,” Arnie explains.

  “Then we need to find it and kill it. At the same time, we need to get the rest of the guests out as soon as possible.”

  “I can take my elevator to the ground floor,” I offer. “The hotel’s manager, Henry, can tell us what we need to know.”

  “Arnie and I will go with you,” Jack says. “Mr. President, if the terrorists’ patience wears thin, the concierge elevator is how they’ll come looking for you.”

  Lee nods at the two members of his security team left standing. They position themselves beside it.

  Jack and Arnie follow us through the elevator door and into my penthouse, where we access my suite’s private elevator.

  The ride down feels like an eternity.

  Chapter 20

  Mixing and Mingling

  The key to any party’s success is getting your guests to interact. This is easily accomplished, if you:

  1: Introduce party games. They can be something as simple as Mail Call (“Everyone who’s a bottom, raise your hand...”) or as complex as a scavenger hunt. (Word of caution on the latter: Don’t send the guests into your dungeon, or they may pass on your future soirées.)

  2: Break up couples at the dinner table. Make the seating boy-girl-boy-girl. (This assures that the men will talk about something other than sports.) Doing so not only gives you an opportunity to use your new place cards and themed cardholders, it allows new friendships to emerge. (Note of caution: in the odd chance you’re called as a witness in a divorce trial, blame it on your wonderful hosting skills.)

  3: Introduce a scintillating conversation topic. Should you know that someone’s wife is having an affair with another guest’s husband, by all means announce it. There’s nothing more exciting than accusations, recriminations, and admissions of guilt!

  “Mrs. Stone, if you’re here to complain about the doors and phone reception, I’m already apprised of the situation, and my staff and I are working diligently to correct it.” To say that Henry is frazzled is putting it mildly.

  I grab his arm. “Henry, we have a bigger problem. This is Jack Craig and Arnie Locklear. They work with a private security company associated with the National Security Agency.”

  He shakes the other men’s hands.

  “We have a hostage crisis taking place on the concierge level,” Jack explains. “An international terrorist group has it in lockdown. The hotel’s penthouse guests are also threatened. For now, we’ve blocked the joint elevator between the floors, so it is contained to those areas. However, the clock is ticking. People’s lives are at stake.”

  Henry’s face loses all color. He eases into his chair as the realization that his hotel’s successful launch is anything but.

  “Is there a way to track everyone in the building?” I ask.

  Henry nods, still stunned.

  Jack commands, “Please allow Arnie to man your computer.”

  Henry moves out of the way for Acme’s tech-op. “You’ll need my access code.”

  “Nah, got it covered, guy.” Arnie plops down into Henry’s desk chair. He cracks his fingers before putting his hand on the computer keyboard like a concert pianist before launching into Rachmaninoff’s Prelude in C Sharp Minor and starts clicking away.

  A moment later, the screen changes to a three-dimensional diagram of the building.

  “The glowing dots you see are guests and staff, generated by their body heat,” Henry explains.

  Arnie whistles. “Very cool security feature for a hotel.”

  The largest mass of dots is congregated in the ballroom–around two hundred–and another twenty or so in the restrooms adjacent to it, and another fifteen in the hotel’s kitchen.

  There are also twenty-three in the lobby. How many of them are terrorists, waiting for the word to take more hostages?

  I thank God the hotel is fairly new and still relatively empty. Lee’s penthouse shows six more dots.

  There are only one or two dots on each floor until the Concierge Level, in which we count ten dots. Five must belong to Gretta and the delegates who are still alive, and the other five are their captors.

  Including the killer maid. I wince at the thought. “Henry, one of the maids is the terrorists’ accomplice. She’s brunette, perhaps Latina. She has an odd nose, and a deep scar on her face.”

  His brow furrows as he tries to summon a name to match the description. “That would be Carmelita. She was only hired four days ago. She is on shift now.”

  “Arnie, hack into Human Resources and pull up her employee photo,” Jack says. “Send it to Emma so that she can do an Interpol search. Maybe she’ll come up with a match.”

  The maid’s face appears on the computer screen. Jack’s eyes open wide. “Tatyana!”

  I gasp, “That is Tatyana?”

  He grimaces. “Yes–when I was done with her.”

  And I let her up onto the concierge level. By doing so, she was able to let the other terrorists up too. After killing the committee’s bodyguards and security detail, they took their places, prior to what they’d hoped was the president’s appearance.

  Jack says, “Arnie, use the hotel’s security cameras to give us eyes on the concierge level.”

  “The hallway and the meeting room have cameras,” Henry offers.

  Jack nods. “Thanks for that. Arnie, once you’ve got eyes, capture pictures of the terrorists and relay them to Emma, so that she can start an Interpol search or set up a file on them.”

  Arnie nods, but keeps his fingers clicking on the keyboard.

  “Henry, you say that there are intercoms in every room?” Jack asks.

  “Yes, in every bedroom, bathroom, and living room,” Henry answers. “The ballroom has several of them, too, as well as the concierge level meeting room. It’s a feature that differentiates us from all other hotels. With a push of a button, a guest has direct access to me, without having to go through the hotel switchboard. Also, if a housekeeper needs to contact management, it’s the quickest way to do so.”

  “Is there a way to turn one on and listen, and at the same time be mute to the guest?”

  Henry’s cheeks turn pink. “Well…yes. But let me assure you, eavesdropping was not the intent of management. The feature you mention is built into the system. For that reason alone, only I can be contacted.”

  “We’ll keep it between us,” Jack says dryly. “We’ll need to evacuate the hotel as soon as possible. You say that you’ve been trying to override the locked doors?”

  “Yes!” His voice cracks with desperation. “But it’s not working! At this point, only an act of God–or a fire–will open those doors.” He shudders at the thought.

  Suddenly, an idea comes to me. “Jack, I know how to start a fire quickly. Of course, before I do, we have to make sure everyone is ready to exit the building.” I turn back to Henry and Arnie, “Look for the heat from the blaze near the ballroom’s kitchen.”

  “But…the dance!” Henry protests.

  “I’ll contain it as much as possible, I promise.” I cross my heart. “When you see it, hit the intercom to tell those in the ballroom, the kitchen, the lobby, and only rooms
below the concierge level to evacuate the hotel immediately–all staff included–to the back side of the hotel. It can’t be seen from the concierge-level meeting room. If we’re lucky, they won’t know about the evacuation.”

  “I’m staying. I go down with the ship,” Henry declares stoically.

  It may not be the Titanic, but if my little diversion gets out of hand, it could turn into the Towering Inferno–not that I want to point that out to Henry.

  Jack taps my shoulder. “I’ll be in the lobby with Abu and Dominic. Something tells me a few of the terrorists’ accomplices are waiting there for a high sign from above. If anyone looks suspicious, or tries to impede the egress of the guests, we’ll take care of them.” He looks at Arnie. “If, after the alarm is sounded, you still see body heat in any of the hotel rooms below the concierge level, let Abu know so that he can check it out.”

  Arnie waves him off. “Will do, boss.”

  I wait until Jack and I have left Henry’s office to come clean. “Jack, I can never forgive myself. I’m the one who let Tatyana onto the concierge floor.”

  My remark stops him cold. He’s silent for so long that I’m almost afraid to look at him.

  When I do, the look on his face stops me. It’s not anger, but regret. “Donna, I’m sorry. I should have followed my instincts and kept you in the loop all this time, protocol be damned. You’ve always been the best sounding board for me.”

  I hold a palm to his mouth to hush him. “At the time, you did what you thought was correct. Still, a woman always loves to hear her man say, ‘you were right.’”

  He doesn’t just say it, he shows me by pressing my palm to his lips and kissing it.

  I’d love to stay by his side, but I can’t. It’s time to set this place on fire.

  It’s hard to believe I’ve been gone from the ballroom only a half hour.

  Thank goodness, the children are rocking out to the entertainment. However, Penelope doesn’t appreciate it at all, and she’s giving Margot an earful.

  I steer clear of them as I make my way into the kitchen, where I can access the closet storing the liquor.

  Édouard and his assistants are so busy prepping the Cherries Jubilee that they barely notice me slip by them. They certainly don’t see me pull an apron off a hook on my way to the storage locker.

  As Henry promised, my security card slides effortlessly into the door’s lock.

  All of the cases are stacked against one wall. I open a box holding a case of gin, which is the cheapest of all the liquor in our stash. The kitchen’s floor is concrete. If I’m right, it should contain the fire to the one thing I’ll soak in the gin: the apron.

  I’ve just opened it when I hear Penelope screech, “There you are! Where have you been?”

  Lovely, she saw me and followed me in.

  I hide the bottle behind my back before turning to face her. “Putting out fires,” I retort. Really, I’m still figuring out how to start one without turning Henry’s hotel into a towering inferno.

  “I can’t believe you hired a female impersonator to entertain our children!” she screeches.

  “If you remember, the referral was yours,” I remind her.

  She looks at me as if I’m crazy. Then it dawns on her. “But…Lenny Cuthbert would never lie!”

  “He didn’t. He represents a Taelor Swiff, not Taylor Swift,” I point out to her.

  Her lower lip trembles. “And to think I introduced that…that person! You knew all along, and you let me take the credit for hiring her!”

  “You’re crazy, Penelope! I discovered it at the exact moment you did–when the curtain opened!”

  Suddenly, it dawns on her to look around. “Aha! So this is where you’ve hidden our liquor. What did you plan to do, resell it behind my back and pocket the profits?” She walks around me so that she can see what I’m hiding. “Ha! You’ve been tippling! I’ll just bet you’re drunk!”

  As she yanks my arm around, the open bottle spills onto her floor-length gown, soaking it.

  She glares at me. “This is Dior! And now, it’s ruined!”

  She raises her hand to slap my face.

  That’s it–I’ve had enough of her shenanigans.

  I grab her wrist and twist her arm behind her back in such a way that should she move it at all, it’s broken. She squawks from the pain. “How dare you! Let me go!”

  Instead, I goose-step her out the door.

  We’re passing Édouard just as he lights one of the Cherries Jubilee. The heat from the dessert finds a new fuel source: Penelope’s dress.

  It catches fire.

  In an instant, Édouard grabs ahold of her dress. In one swipe, he rips the filmy material off her body.

  Thank goodness for all of us that the gold corset and thong she wears beneath don’t go up in flames too. I’d attribute it to all the boning and gut-gripping spandex, but I’d prefer to think that she somehow got ahold of flame-retardant unmentionables–a wise move considering her previous experience with fire at school dances.

  The flaming dress flies through the air and lands in the humongous serving bowl of Cherries Jubilee. A loud whoosh can be heard as the roaring blaze leaps skyward.

  As it turns out, the smoke alarm works perfectly. The kitchen’s exit door opens immediately. The chef and his crew hustle out with Penelope in tow.

  Over the intercom, Henry announces, “There is a fire in the building. Please make your way to the nearest exit! Repeat, there is a fire in the building…”

  I run out the kitchen door, into the ballroom and scan the room for Evan, Mary, Jeff, and Phyllis.

  Mary and Evan are hustling the children out a side exit door. The other chaperones, including Aunt Phyllis, are doing the same.

  I pull Aunt Phyllis aside. “I’ve just texted you a check list of the prom attendees. Please do a headcount. I’ve also sent a text message to their parents to tell them that their children are fine, but that due to the fire, the dance is over and that they should pick up the children via the hotel’s back parking lot. For those who were supposed to stay over, the hotel will hold on to their belongings, which can be collected tomorrow. After all the kids are picked up, take Mary, Evan and Jeff home, okay?”

  “Will do!” Phyllis sighs. “I have to tell you, that Taelor Swiff is some awesome singer! What a cute little girl! I don’t know what you were doing, but you missed quite a show!”

  “That’s what you think,” I mutter. “This is just the opening act.” I want to laugh, but I can’t. There are still too many lives at stake.

  Including Lee’s.

  The hotel’s atrium lobby is empty, except for five men who appear to be sleeping on the luggage cart being guarded by Abu. Their hands and ankles are cuffed, and there is tape over their mouths and bands over their eyes.

  Two were in suits, another two in khakis and golf shirts, and the last one is dressed as a bellman. The items found in their pockets lay in a heap on the lobby reservation desk. Dominic wears white gloves as he rummages through the booty for anything that might identify the suspects.

  Jack and Henry walk up. With his security card, Henry opens an empty luggage closet, which will be the captured terrorists’ home until the NSA can make it here to take them in for interrogation.

  “That was a fast takedown,” I declare.

  “It’s easy with this.” Dominic pulls a pen from his inside jacket pocket, which he then clicks open and shut. “Contains Propofol. One prick, and they’re out like a light.”

  “Sounds like being on a date with you,” I mutter.

  He raises his head, miffed. But before he has a chance to retort, Abu points out, “The bellman spoke English, but with a Soranian accent.”

  “Could you tell what tribe or region?” Jack asks.

  Abu shrugs. “Sunni. Perhaps from Erbil.”

  “He also had this walkie-talkie on him, which I guess is the terrorists’ way of getting around the cell phone jamming.” Jack tosses the communications device to Abu. “If someone c
alls him, fake it. You know, tell them everything is fine down here. We’ve got to buy some time.”

  Arnie pokes his head out of Henry’s office. “The phone lines were pulled from underground, but Emma figured out where the cell phone block is coming from.” He points to a limousine parked in the hotel’s entry turnabout.

  “Super! And she’s not even onsite,” I exclaim. “How did she do that?”

  “She triangulated the coordinates based on where cell phone service was dead. From there, it was a matter of deduction.” He beams as he explains it. He’s always in awe of her, and it’s not just infatuation.

  “I’ll take care of the damnable thing,” Dominic says. He picks up a car key fob from the terrorists’ booty and makes his way out the door and to the limousine. He finds what we’re looking for in the trunk and brings it in with him, handing it to Arnie.

  Jack stops Arnie before he turns off the signal. “Once the jammer is deactivated, everyone’s cell gets activated, including those on the concierge level. There’s got to be something we can do so that they don’t know we’re in the clear.”

  I snap my fingers. “I have an idea! Let’s move it to a spot directly over the concierge meeting room and recalculate its blocking coordinates so that its reach goes in only one direction–down–and blocks that portion of the concierge level.”

  Jack breaks out into a smile. “Brilliant! Arnie and Dominic, come with us. Arnie, after you’ve set up the jammer, head back over to Henry’s office, so that you can keep watch on the concierge level security cameras–”

  He stops talking when he sees someone coming our way: Aunt Phyllis, with Evan and Mary.

  I run to them. “What’s wrong?” It dawns on me that Jeff isn’t with them. “Mary, where is your brother?”

  She shakes her head. “He never made it to the parking lot. We’ve looked all over the ballroom and the hotel’s lower level, and we can’t find him.”