The Housewife Assassin's Fourth Estate Sale Read online

  “There will be over a hundred nations in attendance,” he replies.

  “Sure, it’s a great show of solidarity. But, Jack, the countries that actually have weapons of mass destruction don’t attend.”

  “This time is different. For the first time, China, the U.S., France, Germany, and the U.K.—even North Korea—have committed to attend. I suppose this gives Kim Jung-Un a good reason to leave his gilded cage and play the diplomatic head-of-state instead of the petulant dictator.”

  This stops me cold. “Wow! So, U.S. Secretary of State, John Worthington, will be there?”

  “Yes, and Lee too.”

  “That should be an interesting meeting of the minds!” I admit. “By the way, my first assignment is to cover Putin’s upcoming military weapons parade. Supposedly, it's his excuse for not attending the summit.”

  I don’t have to tell Jack that parade coverage has been assigned to Luuk. I’m sure he’ll find out from Ryan soon enough.

  I slip on a pair of jeans. But when I untangle my bra from my blouse, Jack perks up. “Here, let me help you with that.”

  Instead, I throw it at him.

  I’ve got others to take with me. And besides, it’ll give him something to remember me by.

  5

  Happy Talk!

  You know all those times when your local evening news anchors chatter away as if they’re carrying on a meet-cute conversation, just between them? It’s what news journalists call “Happy talk!”

  And, for a good reason: Not only is this informal, light-hearted banter used as a “bumper” (that is, filler in between commercial breaks) it’s also supposed to make you think that they’re best buds.

  “Happy talk” can also be a great communication tool for you and your significant other! By using it in public between arguments, even on the days you’re ready to claw each other’s eyes out, you’ll give the perception of a happy couple. Just follow these three tips:

  First, toss out a provocative question or statement that he can respond to quickly. (Note: anything using math, history, pop culture, or current events is a no-no, since it may highlight his ignorance. Just because he’s an idiot doesn’t mean people have to know it. Heck, you didn’t figure it out until it was too late, right?)

  Next, laugh as often as possible, as if what he says is clever, even though everyone watching knows, like you, that he’s dull as paste.

  Finally, call him by a few terms of endearment. (Sorry, no: “jerk,” “two-timer,” and “whoremonger” don’t count.)

  Abu’s ticket puts him in coach, whereas Luuk and I are flying Business Class. (Yes, there is a pecking order in broadcast news.)

  On the JFK-to-Frankfurt leg, we score side-by-side seats on the upper deck. Our little cubicles are roomier than steerage, but Luuk is still too close for comfort. I don’t like how he’s always looking for an excuse to touch me. Still, my goal is to tap into Hart’s Russian contacts without raising any red flags. If I think it will help the mission, by all means, I’ll play the coquette.

  Unfortunately, the way Business Class is arranged two by two, like Noah’s Ark. I’m not given much privacy to check messages or study the detailed map of the blocks that surround Hart Media’s Moscow office. There is nothing I can do but tuck my carry-on in one of the storage lockers under my window and pray that Luuk dozes off sooner than later.

  After one of the friendly flight attendants serves us a delicious meal of grilled halibut, Yukon Gold steamed potatoes, julienned vegetables, sponge cake, and a bottle of wine (a 2011 Taymente Malbec), Luuk has no one else to chat up, so tag, I’m it. “Tell me, Gwendolyn, what was your worst experience in the field?” When he turns to face me, his sharp blue eyes hit me full force, like tractor beams.

  I pretend to think for a moment. Finally, I declare, “Watching my cameraman get blown to bits, right at my side. Truly horrific.” I blink back alligator tears with a long sigh. “And yours? I’m sure there were some very tense moments while…Pardon, what kind of reportage did you do? Ah, yes, Financial Times! I can only imagine the drama at the close of the markets!”

  Luuk laughs. “It is good to finally get a peek at your sense of humor. Seriously, I was worried that we were not to be…How do you say it in English? Ah yes! ‘Bosom buddies!’” His eyes slip to my chest with a smile. “But you are right. Spilling hot coffee on my suit pants before an interview with the prime minister of France was nothing compared to your trauma.” He lifts his index finger in the air as if taping an imaginary star on my side. “Here’s to fate!” His grin fades when he asks solemnly. “But seriously, what is it like to face gunfire?”

  “Scary,” I confess. “I don’t advise it.”

  “I will do my best to stay out of a gunman’s range.” In an attempt at sincerity he lowers his voice. “Unless that means leaving your side.”

  “I’m touched,” I answer coolly.

  His smile slips off his lips for a second, but he rights it quickly enough. “Do you currently have a significant other?”

  I force a blush before answering with the response that is already part of my cover: “Yes. His name is Kunagwo Zwane. He’s a doctor affiliated with the United Nations Refugee Agency.”

  Luuk rolls his eyes. “You are too good to be true.”

  “Why, thank you, Luuk! I shall take that as a compliment.” Perhaps that’s his way of saying I’m not his type. One can only hope.

  “You are also quite beautiful, Gwendolyn.” He leans in closer. “I’m sure that, eventually, you will get some airtime.”

  “I would imagine so. There are enough stories in Moscow to keep us both hopping.”

  “But as the bureau chief, I’ll make all assignments. You write beautifully, so perhaps you will do mostly print stories, ja?” To make the point as to how I might earn the privilege, he puts his hand on top of mine.

  I tilt my head as if seriously considering the possibility of his not-so-subtle offer.

  Finally, I draw him closer with a crook of my finger. When our lips are just inches apart, I whisper, “And how about you, Luuk? Is there a Mrs. Jansen pining away for you back in Amsterdam?”

  He laughs heartily. “Not at all. However, I’m sure a few ladies on de Rosse Buurt miss my patronage.”

  “The Red Light District? I don't doubt that.”

  His tone is pleasant enough, but his questions are annoying. And since I’ve already been through three interrogations today, I flex my seat into a bed and beg off with a yawn.

  I awaken some five hours later to find that I’m curled toward Luuk. Our knees are touching. When I pull away, he flips onto his other side.

  Next time, I’ll insist on First Class. With this guy, every inch counts.

  No better time than now to check for text messages on my phone than while Luuk is asleep. When I turn to open the storage locker, I notice the strap of my carry-on sticks out from the locker door.

  I glance over at Luuk. He snores gently.

  Silently, I ease open the door. The clasp of my valise is shut, but that doesn’t mean anything. When I open it, I find my cell phone in the left side pocket, right where I left it. However, the date and hour, set for Arabic Standard Time, crawls across the screen, which only happens when there is an attempt to unlock it: virtually impossible, what with all of Acme’s security procedures needed.

  I peek above the pod bays and notice that several are empty. Gently, I lift my carry-on from the locker and take it with me to the one farthest away.

  Acme uses screen-shot proof and untraceable chat software with an ongoing self-destruct program: think, SnapChat, but without all the goofy icons.

  Except when Arnie uses it. Our team looks forward to the day he grows out of the need to embellish his texts with his homemade GIFs, most of which mash up footage of old Three Stooges comedy routines and Marvel superheroes.

  As I suspected, they are already in touch with one another. It must be a relief to the rest of my team that I’m finally online because suddenly their messages pop in r
esponse to my answers:

  * * *

  RYAN: In flight?

  JACK: Affirmative.

  ABU: Affirmative.

  ARNIE: Yep, Boss. Happily ensconced in my new cubicle. CHECK OUT MY TIMES SQUARE VIEW!

  RYAN: I assume you’re doing more than looking out the window.

  ARNIE: All good. Broke into Finance Dept.’s firewall. Will keep U posted.

  DONNA: Sorry, Ryan, to be late to this party. Nodded off after Luuk’s amiable but very persistent interrogation. Now that Sleeping Beauty is out cold, I’d like to request a full background check on him.

  JACK: Why is that?

  DONNA: I have a sneaking suspicion that, while I slept, he tried to Graykey my phone. If so, we need to find out why.

  EMMA: On it.

  ABU: Donna, brush pass your phone to me at baggage claim. When I get to my room, I’ll check the secure enclave chip for any breaches.

  EMMA: By the way, Donna and Abu, within an hour your Boeing Black cell phones and computers will have received government clearance on a CIA secure satellite that has yet to run into interference from Russia’s COMSAT SIGINT. Abu, there is a tiny transmitter that fits into the USB port of any video camera gear assigned to you. Use it when you take footage, and it will instantaneously transmit to Acme’s secure cloud.

  ABU: Got it.

  EMMA: Donna, I’ll call as soon as I run a trace on Luuk. Wear your earbuds whenever possible.

  DONNA: Will do, Emma. Hey, if a GRU spook sees me muttering to myself, so be it. And by the way, I loved how you littered ‘Gwendolyn’s’ phone with such detail! If he has hacked it, at least it substantiates my legend. The emails to and from her editors and producers, and all those lovey-dovey fake emails and texts between Gwendolyn and Kunagwo had me blushing when I read them!

  EMMA: Frankly, I enjoyed world-building for Gwen. She and Kunagwo are so great together, dontcha think? I guess I channeled the romance writer in me.

  JACK: Gee, should I be jealous of this Kunagwo guy?

  DONNA: I’ll pass you the emails and let you decide.

  ARNIE: Wait…Should I be jealous too?

  EMMA: [SIGH] And now that we know that the “correspondents” are on their way to the Moscow and London bureaus, we’ll assign a few Acme assets as cutouts within proximity of your buildings. They’ll be helpful in coming up with evasive action plans and some surveillance detection routes. And we’ll put a tail on Luuk too.

  DONNA: Great idea. I don’t think I’m compromised, but if my cover is blown, I want to protect Abu. Knowing someone has our backs is always appreciated.

  ABU <3 2u, Girl! Would <3 U even more if U could get me into Business Class.

  DONNA: You’re dreaming, dude.

  ABU: Maybe. But, hey, it doesn’t hurt to ask, right?

  DONNA: Ryan, I assume our assets will recognize the GRU tails Luuk and I are sure to have.

  RYAN: Depends on how many they put on you. If you’re a significant enough threat, The GRU has been known to assign as many as a hundred agents to a single surveillance mission.

  DONNA: I’ll do my best to keep under the radar.

  DOMINIC: BTW, Jack, congratulations on the plum assignment of the International Nuclear Disarmament Summit! Please give Princess Catherine my tender regards. [SIGH] She was always the one who got away.

  DONNA: Really? Have you forgotten that you used that line on me just the other day?

  DOMINIC: Please don’t be jealous, Old Girl. As they say, “It’s easy to fool the eye, but it’s hard to fool the heart.”

  ARNIE: Boo-YAH!

  EMMA: Really, Dominic? You’re quoting Pacino in Scent of a Woman?

  DONNA: Ignore him. Heaven knows I do.

  RYAN: Now, now, children.

  DONNA: You’re right, Ryan. We need to stay focused. In fact, I’ve just had a fantastic idea. Since we know that Hart Media is televising the summit, why doesn’t Dominic suggest to his bank that it along with Hart Media, co-host a cocktail event for attendees? Acme assets planted as part of the staff can observe the Harts in the presence of suspected foreign agents. And Dominic can attend to keep an eye on the Harts—along with Jack, of course.

  RYAN: Great idea, Donna.

  DOMINIC: Agreed! Mrs. Stone, you are indeed brilliant! And you truly are the one who got away. XXOO

  JACK: CRAIG. Her last name is CRAIG.

  RYAN: Signing off.

  DOMINIC: Ditto. A raven’s job is never done.

  EMMA: Dropping the mic. Donna, I’ll have the recon on Luuk to you ASAP.

  ABU: Turning in too. I’ve scored a row to myself so I can spread out.

  DONNA: Goodnight, all.

  * * *

  I click off before Jack. If he wants to text further, the ball is now in his court.

  Jack scores a three-pointer by texting back within seconds:

  * * *

  JACK: What’s up, Buttercup?

  DONNA: Is that Japanese for “I’m sorry I’m not with you”?

  JACK: If it were, could you forgive me?

  DONNA: Speaking of Kimiko, how is she?

  JACK: As reticent of me as I am of her. Should I be suspicious? I mean, you’re trying to be close-lipped around Luuk because of your mission. Maybe she’s got a hidden agenda too.

  DONNA: Ask Emma to do some deep reconnaissance on her. In the meantime, until she gives Kimiko a clean bill of health, try being friendlier…but not too friendly.

  JACK: Not to worry. I only have eyes for you. I miss you, Don.

  DONNA: Good.

  JACK: Hmm...That’s it?

  DONNA: Of course not. I miss you too! I love you so much that it hurts!

  JACK: I wish I were there to kiss whatever aches and make it better.

  DONNA: Then let’s get this mission over and done.

  JACK: On it. Now get some sleep. XXOO

  * * *

  I move back to my assigned seat. Luuk has awakened. He grins up at me. “The lavatories are quite roomy on the 747-8’s, ja?”

  Instead of acknowledging, I reply, “I hope I didn’t wake you when I slipped past.”

  “Not at all. I am…How do you say? Ah yes! A ‘light sleeper.’” He stands up so that I may pass to my seat but leans in close enough that our chests meet. “Perhaps you should have wakened me. I would have joined you.”

  The sudden urge to grab his nut sack and twist it until he squeals like a piggy is only appeased when he says, “You are right about the military parade and press conference. It is a huge story for Hart Media, and there are many angles to cover. Perhaps I can request an extra journalist’s pass from Russia’s Ministry of Foreign Affairs. The First Deputy Minister is an acquaintance.”

  “Thank you for using your influence,” I purr. “It’s nice that you have friends in high places.”

  In no time he’s dozed off again.

  When I wake, once again our knees are touching. I feign sleep until Luuk opens his eyes. When he does, he leaves his leg where it is. At the same time, he reaches over and grazes my breast with his fingertips.

  The nerve of this guy!

  The thought that I have to play along angers me. Well, it won’t be too long. I’m out as soon as I figure out if Russia’s bank accounts are connected to those of Hart Media.

  Which begs the question: Is that why Luuk was chosen as bureau chief?

  If so, it justifies my staying close to him.

  Already, I hate this mission.

  6

  Hard News

  The factual coverage of serious and timely events is called “hard news.”

  A war, a pandemic, a political upheaval either at home or abroad, and an economic recession—all of these are given no-nonsense reportage and placement above-the-fold of any newspaper.

  Every life has its hard news moments. Like, say, your husband loses his job; or your cousin is in an accident; or your sister learns she has cancer.

  This is no time to (as you’ve just learned) “bury the lede.” Instead, get the facts straight
and put it out there for others who may provide pertinent insights that can bring about a more desired resolution.

  Hopefully, your network won’t just roll their eyes or click their tongues at your ill fortune. If so, they’ll be proving that Ronald Reagan was right when he said, “Recession is when a neighbor loses his job. Depression is when you lose yours.”

  The flight between Frankfurt International and Moscow’s Sheremetyevo International Airport is much shorter: only three hours.

  The customs line in the arrivals terminal seems just as long, especially after our fourteen-hour journey. Considering where we are and who we are (or, in my case, aren’t) our passports clear us without any hassle.

  By the time we make it to baggage claim, Abu is already there. We introduce ourselves and shake his hand. Abu then introduces us to the very tall, very bulky man who has just lowered a sign with the words HART INTERNATIONAL NEWS in large block letters.

  “I am Yegor Povov, your producer,” he proclaims. He then points to another man who is slighter, younger, and sporting an eye patch, who stands beside a baggage cart that holds our suitcases. “He is Nikolay Aristov. He is the bureau’s office manager." After shaking hands all around, Yegor adds, "Your apartments are in the same building. We shall take you there now, as I imagine you are very tired after your trip.”

  “Perhaps after a quick stop at the offices first,” Luuk counters. “We would like to go over the story leads left by the departing crew. We must also prepare our coverage plan for the military parade and the press conference tomorrow.”

  Yegor shrugs. “Your choice.”

  He leads us out of the airport door to a large passenger van waiting nearby.

  Nikolay tosses a few rubles to the security guard who stands beside it: compensation, I imagine, for ignoring an obvious parking violation. He then opens the side panel for us before taking the driver’s seat. Yegor sits shotgun.