The Housewife Assassin's Ghost Protocol Read online

  “How will it be used?” Emma asks.

  “Great question. Imagine if a soldier who lost a leg because he happened to step on an IED could grow a new one within a few days,” Ryan explains. “It’s worked successfully in lab rats. This veteran—who, as you see is an amputee—volunteered to be a human test subject. His new arm is already growing.”

  “What you are talking about, old man, are biolimbs,” Dominic pipes in. “My God! Imagine its use in the private sector!”

  Ryan nods. “Like most of our military’s innovations, it will eventually impact civilian lives in a significant way. There are over two million amputees today in this country. Close to one hundred and fifty amputations happen every year. Think of how their lives will be affected.” He shakes his head at the wonder of it all. “Another application for his research is genome-editing technology.”

  “What is that, exactly?” Abu asks.

  “A lab tool called a CRISPR allows scientists to manipulate DNA in the nucleus,” Ryan continues. “Imagine tiny ‘molecular scissors’ guided by satellite navigation that have the ability to reach within any cell—be it sperm, a one-celled embryo, or an egg—and either insert good DNA, or snip out the bad stuff prior to replication of DNA in the next generation.”

  I shake my head. “It sounds as if we’re now playing God.”

  “Humans weren’t supposed to fly either,” Ryan argues. “Today, going to the moon is an afterthought. Imagine if you were able to snip the BRCA1 breast cancer out of your DNA, and in doing so, eradicate it in your descendants. Would you do so?”

  The vision of my mother’s final days on earth come to mind. “Without hesitation,” I murmur.

  “For DARPA, this generation of super soldiers will be surgically enhanced. But the next generation will be created at inception,” Ryan points out.

  “Gee, whatever happened to free will?” Emma mutters. “I mean, what if the dude wants to dance ballet instead?”

  “Trust me; he’ll get offers from every dance company in the world,” Dominic declares.

  “He’s right,” Ryan adds. “And diseases such as cystic fibrosis, hemophilia, muscular dystrophy, and sickle cell will be things of the past.”

  I shrug. “The commercial application will be a stockholder’s wet dream, not to mention parents who want a designer baby.”

  “Do the agency’s experiments include DNA editing with other species?” Emma asks warily.

  “By that, do you mean is it creating chimeras?” I wonder out loud.

  “Half man and half beast? That’s pretty scary!” Abu shakes his head at the thought.

  “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, people. DARPA doesn’t want mutants. The ethics issue alone would kill the program,” Ryan warns. “It’ll look more like this.” He hits the computer key again.

  A different picture appears. An older gentleman—portly, with a goatee—is working with a man wearing a prosthetic arm. The man’s head is taped with electrodes. He appears to be lifting a heavy weight. “This is Dr. Norbert Welles, who heads up the second group of researchers who is working on neural implants that can control robotic prosthetics. He’s the founder of MesmerMind, a start-up based in San Francisco.”

  “A reboot of the Bionic Man?” Arnie’s fist pumps the air. “Awesome!”

  “This isn’t one of your comic book fantasies, Arnie,” Ryan growls. “This is real life.”

  “What does the third team’s research entail?” Jack asks.

  “Memory modification,” Ryan answers. “Operation Hercules is providing the most comprehensive research that has ever been conducted in the physiology of memory. Dr. Shelley Wollstonecraft leads this team. She works at UC Berkeley’s BioEngineering Department.”

  He taps the key once more. This time, a woman appears on the screen. She is in her mid-thirties, and stunningly beautiful. Her long dark hair curls to her shoulders. Dr. Wollstonecraft stands beside a CT scan of a green-hued brain. While in mid-conversation with someone not in the photo, she points to an area of the cerebral cortex that is highlighted in a vibrant red color.

  “What exactly is memory modification?” Dominic asks.

  I presume it’s what every woman who has had the misfortune of being sweet-talked into having sex with Dominic must do in order regain her self respect. Still, I wait for Ryan’s answer.

  “Consider the changes that would occur in our lives if there were a way in which we could effectively block bad memories,” Ryan explains. “Like those which cause veterans Post Traumatic Stress Disorder.”

  “Cool! Sort of like the movie, Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind!” Arnie proclaims.

  “Yes…I mean no!” Ryan rubs his eyes as if doing so might make his annoyance with Arnie somehow disappear. “Again, this is real life. If the research holds, Operation Hercules’ assets will be emotionally unified in their mission. And, once again, their success means civilians soon reap the benefits of the research as well. Be they combat vets or everyday citizens who have found themselves in trying circumstances, over five percent of our country’s citizens have experienced some form of Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder. It will also help the millions of others who’ve suffered some crippling phobia, or a debilitating anxiety—not to mention those with addictions.”

  Still in doubt, Emma shakes her head. “Come on, Ryan! What we’re talking about here is mind control!”

  “What’s wrong with the good old-fashioned way of dealing with mental health issues—you know, like talk therapy, or a correctly prescribed program of drug therapy?” Dominic asks.

  “Again, it’s memory modification, Emma. And, to answer your question, Dominic: pyscho-phramaceuticals and behavioral therapies don’t do as good of a job. All pharmaceuticals have some form of side effect. And, unfortunately, behavioral therapy often lapses over time.”

  “With advances in medical technologies, both drug and behavioral therapies can, and will, be tweaked with the patient in mind,” I counter.

  “That may be the case, but no time soon—unless we’re able to crack the last frontier: the human brain, which is exactly what Dr. Wollstonecraft is doing,” Ryan replies. “PET and MRI scans allow neuroscientists to monitor the brain’s metabolic changes and blood flow, but this technology can’t measure neuron activity.” He sighs. “That’s where Dr. Wollstonecraft’s project comes in. She and her team have already identified and mapped pathways where the brain creates, archives, and recalls memories. By the end of the month, their research will be validated by human test subjects.”

  “Since we police the world—for peanuts to our allies, and at the expense of a living wage to our military personnel—I guess super-sizing our soldiers is one way to throw them a bone,” Emma mutters. “But how will these so-called modifications affect them after their tours of duty?”

  “Great question,” I murmur.

  Obviously, Ryan doesn’t share my opinion, because he ignores it. Instead, his eyes shift from one of us to the other. “Ladies and gentleman, our world is swiftly moving beyond conventional warfare. If we are going to fight fanatical terrorism without the collateral damage of innocent victims, we need to be smarter, stronger, and more select in tracking down our enemies: on a case-by-case basis. Operation Hercules is the answer. And DARPA—not to mention POTUS—has put the program’s security in our hands.”

  Our mission team can succinctly read in Ryan’s tone: Get onboard, or get out.

  After what Jack and I have seen these past forty-eight hours, we really don’t have a choice.

  Jack shrugs his acceptance of the inevitable. “Okay, we’re in. Tell us about the security breach.”

  “It was old school: there was no technological hacking because all three teams kept their notes on paper, and under lock and key. To assure this, anyone working on the project was kept under twenty-four-hour surveillance from day one.”

  “Who had access to the papers?” I ask.

  “The project’s three lead scientists presented white papers on their projects on
Thursday.”

  “That would have been the day before Salem hit Biarritz,” I reason. “Who is on this committee, and where did it meet?” I ask.

  “The scientists presented their findings to POTUS, Director of Intelligence Marcus Branham, and the director of DARPA. The meeting was too large to hold in the Oval Office. My guess is that it took place in the West Wing’s Roosevelt Room,” Ryan reasons.

  “Don’t leave us in suspense,” I chide Ryan. “Who are our prime suspects? Make my day and tell us it’s Todd and Blake.”

  “No, sorry. It’s Dr. Brooks, for one,” Ryan says. “And Dr. Wollstonecraft.” He takes a deep breath. “And, er, President Chiffray.”

  “Lee? Why am I not surprised?” Jack mutters.

  He doesn’t need a reason to be at odds with Lee. He’s already got one:

  Me.

  “In his defense, Jack, only POTUS and his new Director of Intelligence, Marcus Branham, knew that each of the officially released copies has a light-sensitive halo that is invisible to the naked eye. Scanning, photographing, or photocopying will set off a silent digital alarm that allows the compromised copy to be identified with the time and date of the breach. And, by the way, it was POTUS who insisted that Acme be hired to investigate the leak, since we were the ones who exposed it.”

  Jack shrugs. What can he say? In this matter, Lee’s actions speak volumes: he is not looking for a cover-up.

  “I presume you haven’t divulged to POTUS his role in the breach,” Jack counters.

  “You presume correctly. He only knows that a breach occurred, but not how and when. Frankly, I’d like to keep it that way. It assures his hands are clean during our investigation,” Ryan points out.

  “What are the time stamps on the breaches?” Dominic asks.

  “The meeting lasted all day,” Arnie replies. “All of the papers that were compromised happened sometime during the meeting, within hours of each other.”

  “Other than POTUS and Director Branham, are any of the other participants aware that breaches were detected?” I ask.

  “No. And, for now, POTUS and I agree we should keep it that way to see if other theft attempts are made,” Ryan assures us. “Interestingly enough, neither of the scientists’ compromised copies was the one regarding their own research. Dr. Wollstonecraft’s was of Dr. Welles’s neural implant research, and Dr. Welles’s was about the regenerative bioengineering research conducted by Dr. Brooks. POTUS’s compromised copy dealt with Wollstonecraft’s memory modification research.”

  “What are our marching orders?” Jack asks.

  Ryan points to Dominic. “I need you to fly immediately to Biarritz to confiscate Salem’s remains for analysis. I also want you to pick up Pinky Ring’s trail from when he shot Jean-Pierre.” He then turns to me. “Donna will go undercover within DARPA, as the public information officer assigned to the project. In that capacity, you’ll have access to the scientists. Emma, Arnie as always, you’re on ComInt and tech, respectively.”

  The Locklears nod.

  “What about POTUS?” Jack asks.

  “He’s all yours,” Ryan replies.

  Jack smiles at the thought.

  “Wait…on second thought, let’s, er, leave him in Donna’s capable hands. Jack, you’ll provide backup on all three ops.”

  Despite Jack’s scowl, Ryan dismisses us with a nod. “Remember, time is of the essence.”

  “I guess the upside of a trip to DC is that we can tour Morgan Adams University with Evan.” I say this in order to break Jack’s silence on the car trip home.

  “Yeah, wow, great idea. Having Evan along will give me something to do while you’re entertaining Lee.”

  I stifle the urge to flinch at Jack’s sarcasm. Instead, I shake my head. “What do you mean? Of course, you’re going with me to see Lee.”

  “Ryan made it clear that he thinks you’re perfectly capable of finding out what we need without any help from me.”

  “If that’s the case, since I’m in charge of how I work the operation, I insist that you be there too.”

  He glances over at me. “Don’t throw me a bone, Donna.”

  “Quit sulking. It’s a turn-off.”

  The next thing I know, he’s pulled over to the side of the road.

  We are on the 405, arguably the least romantic road in all of California—

  Unless the man you love puts his hand on your thigh—

  And melts your heart with his searing gaze—

  Before locking your lips in a heart pounding kiss.

  Perfect. I have him right where I want him: in my arms.

  He waits until we resume oxygen intake, then mutters, “Who did you say is sulking?”

  “Certainly not you,” I purr. “Good then, it’s settled.”

  He laughs. “Oh, yeah? What’s settled?”

  “Your role in the investigation I’ll be heading up: that of the compromised DARPA white paper that was in POTUS’s possession.”

  Damn it, his frown is back. “And what, exactly, is my role again?”

  “Hopefully, you’ll be losing at golf to Lee on the Blue Course of the Congressional Country Club while I trace the route the white paper took in getting into—and for that matter, out of—the Oval Office.”

  “In other words, I’m the decoy—not you?”

  I nod. “Yes—but only because your golf handicap is much better than mine.”

  “The last thing Lee wants to do is spend four hours on a golf course with me.”

  “You’re wrong about that. Lee would agree to a foursome with Francisco Franco, Attila the Hun, and Joseph Mengele if it got him out of the White House on a beautiful Sunday afternoon.”

  Jack starts the car up again. As he pulls into the slow lane, he murmurs, “Nice to know you think so highly of me.”

  “I also think highly of Evan. And guess what? He’ll be part of your golf foursome, along with Connelly McIver, the dean of Morgan Adams University—that is, after he and Evan have their photo op with the president in the Oval Office. If the game these colleges play is ‘who do you know,’ Evan’s connection to POTUS should go a long way to erasing his mother’s misdeeds.”

  “Do you really think Lee will agree to this?”

  “I’d say he owes the kid that much, and more. The only reason he now lives in the White House is because Catherine Martin took Carl’s advice to make Lee her vice president. At the same time, it made Evan an orphan.”

  “Do you think Lee is just going to let you hang in his private office, twiddling your thumbs?”

  “Oh, he’ll soon realize that I’ll be doing much more than that—say, clearing his name—and Babette’s too, if he’s lucky.”

  The latter would be wishful thinking on Lee’s part. The First Lady of the United States is always high on my list of suspects. Not only does she have unlimited access to the Oval Office, her path to power crisscrosses the rise of the Quorum much too often to be coincidental.

  Lee realizes this too. Still, he’s bound and determined to protect her. Not just because of her connections with known terrorists—my first husband, Carl; her first husband, Jonah Breck; and Salem al-Sadah—would lead to the biggest scandal ever to rock the U.S. Presidency, but because she’s pregnant.

  He knows it’s not his child.

  Lee is living proof that love truly is blind.

  “So you’re going against Ryan’s mandate and breaking the news to Lee that his compromised copy makes him a key suspect?”

  “Frankly, it’s the only way to clear the First Couple of any wrongdoing. The fact that he doesn’t yet know it gives me an advantage. If he says no to my request to full access to everything and everyone who can shed light on what happened in the hours leading up to, and during, the Operation Hercules briefing, he’ll look that much more guilty.” I shrug. “For that matter, I’ll need access to Babette too. So enjoy your golf game while I dig through this mess. If I’m lucky, I’ll have what I need before Monday, so that I can join you and Evan when he’s s
cheduled to tour the Adams Morgan campus.”

  “Not to bring up a sore subject, but as you know, Mary is dying to go along with us on these college tours,” Jack reminds me.

  I frown. “I know, but not this one to DC and Boston. There’s too much at stake with this mission. We’ll take her along to Stanford and Berkeley.”

  “That may not appease her,” he warns.

  “It’ll have to do. Frankly, separating those two for a couple of days will do them both some good. Sharing their grief from traumatic events isn’t the best reason to start—or for that matter, stay in a relationship.”

  “Oh, no?” Jack eyes me with disbelief. “What, are you crazy? It worked for us.”

  “Really? Is that what you think—that we were drawn together in a quest to make right the atrocities Carl committed in the name of the Quorum?” I open my eyes wide in mock disbelief. “Gee, I guess it’s time to put that assumption to bed once and for all.” I crook my finger, beckoning him forward. When his ear is close enough, I whisper, “It’s the cuddling.”

  Jack thinks for a moment, then muses, “Maybe Mary feels the same way about Evan.”

  His smart-ass remark earns him a hard punch in the arm.

  Jack is laughing so hard that he almost swerves into a big rig.

  As the truck’s driver lays on his horn, Jack hits the accelerator. In less time than it takes to say “cuddle” Jack’s BMW i8 has us forty feet beyond that rig.

  Note to self: put a security camera in the playhouse.

  Chapter 6

  Paranormal Activity

  Serious ghost hunters have specific tools to determine if paranormal activity is in the area. Should you suspect a ghost lives with you, a ghost hunter will show up with:

  1: Audio equipment with microphones that are sensitive enough to pick up ectoplasm readings. Why? Because ghosts’ comments—known in this business as “electronic voice phenomena,” or EVP—often cannot be picked up by the human ear.