The Housewife Assassin's Killer App (15 page)

“Which brings us to WHEN,” Emma declares. “From the clues we have, we’re under a ticking clock—sometime within the next three weeks.”

Ryan nods toward me. “To make things even tighter, the fact that the Mad Hacker put Donna in one of the screenshots, means he sees her as integral to the mission.”

Just my luck—especially when my children need me now, more than ever. Of course, if we can tie Carl to the IC vulnerability, we’re free of him—hopefully forever.
 

So, yes, count me in.

“Wonder-Con may be a hand-off of some sort. If so, it’s just one piece of the puzzle. However, if we stop whatever is supposed to go down there, it may be disruptive enough to bring down the whole operation and lead us to the perpetrators—all the more reason Donna has to be front and center at it.” Ryan turns to me. “Donna, in regard to your employment at Shazaaaam, Jack will be providing back-up. He’s assigned to the legal department, which has access to all contracts. And Arnie will infiltrate as well. He’ll be employed as a game coder, but, of course, his main function is to provide any needed technical expertise.”
 

Arnie’s smile is wide enough to drive a truck through it. “I’m loving this new assignment already!” He glances over at Emma. When he sees the frown on her face, he gets wise and loses the mad clown grin.
 

What’s eating her? Seriously, she needs to lighten up on him.
 

“This isn’t going to be all fun and games,” Ryan reminds Arnie sternly. “Once you’re on a gaming console, your mission is to hack into Shazaaaam’s mainframe computer and search for any files that can incriminate the culprit.”
 

“The Mad Hacker left us one clue as to who it might be,” Emma says. “The company’s executive vice president in charge of game development is named Roger White, so you can start with any correspondence or files created by or sent to him.”

Jack laughs. “Talk about a broad hint. Both clues play off the word, ‘rabbit,’ what with his last name being White, and the animated character, Roger Rabbit.”

“Not only that, under Roger’s domain are the creative teams who develop the story’s plots and scripts, as well as those involved in animation and design—the two- and three-D artists, audio engineers, and level designers, just to name a few,” Abu points out.
 

I nod approvingly at him. “Wow, great research.”
 

“It’s all part of my new gig,” Abu answers. He reaches over the conference room table in order to hand me a business card. Besides his name, it shows that he holds the position of “Associate” with one of the biggest tech headhunting firms in the country. “It’s got an awesome commission structure,” he winks. “Let me put it this way—with just the placements of you three, in three different gigs, I’ll be able to pay off my home in Palos Verdes.”

That certainly has my attention. “Wow! …Wait a minute. If you’ll be making those kinds of commissions off what we’ll be making, we must be doing pretty well too!”
 

“Heck yeah, doll!” He pulls out a contract. “I was going to give this to you to take home, but if you sign it now, you get a five-thousand-dollar bonus…minus my fifteen percent of course.”
 

I scan the contract until I find the bottom line. When I see it, my eyes open wide. “You mean that, above and beyond the five thou, I’ll be making over one-hundred thousand a year?” I pluck Jack’s pen out of his hand and sign with a flourish.
 

“Well, um, yeah…that is, if you stay a full year.”

Aye, there’s the rub.

“Hey, I’ll be lucky if I can fake it for ninety minutes. Speaking of which, do you have any idea how I should prep for this gig?”

Abu frowns. “Beats me. But Emma should know. She a gamer from way back.”

I look up. Arnie is still here, but she’s left the conference room. Through the glass walls, I see her heading toward the ladies’ room.

I run after her, but she makes it through the lavatory door before me.

When I enter, I see why she was in such a hurry to get away—she’s crying.

I put my arm over her shoulder. “Emma, what’s wrong?”

She shrugs it off as she gulps down her tears. “I…I’m just tired of being such a bitch.”

“It’s your hormones,” I chuckle, in the hope that she’ll laugh it off too. “Trust me; I’ve been through the same thing, three times.”

The cause and effect of my words is that her frown only gets deeper. “Yes, I know you have. But each of your pregnancies was planned—with a man you loved. Or, at least you thought you loved him at the time.”

My smile disappears. “The only good things to come out of that relationship were my children. But, had I known then what I know now, would I have stayed with him? No. Everything about Carl is an enigma. I never saw it coming. I had to learn about it, the hard way.” I look her in the eye. “Whereas, everything about Arnie is an open book. What you see is what you get. It may not be perfect, but it is kind, and true, and filled with adoration for you.” I’m making her cry all the harder, but she needs to hear this from me—from someone. “Emma, I know you hadn’t planned on this baby. And I know it wasn’t created with someone you wanted to marry. But you have something so precious that many single parents never have—someone at your side, who loves both you and your child.”

She nods as she sobs. “I…I know what you’re saying. And I adore Arnie too. No—I love him!” Truly I do!” The realization makes her cry all the harder. “It’s just that”—she looks down at her belly—“I never felt that this was who I am.
A mom
. I joined Acme for the thrill—the adventure! But with a child…” she stops herself with a sigh.

“Acme can always use an operative like you,” I assure her.

“I mean, I always wanted to be in the field.”

“I have three children, and it hasn’t stopped me.”

“I know, but…” She frowns and looks away.

Ah. I get it. Fieldwork isn’t for a woman with a family. And being a honey trap is not exactly conducive to “bring your daughter to work” day. As for wet work—well, it’s not a great way to teach a kid conflict resolution. Do as I say, not as I do—in other words, don’t torture or kill the kid who jumped you in line to the cafeteria.

She winces as my back stiffens. “Donna, please don’t think I’m passing judgment on you! No one has a right to do that! Like you said, you did what you had to do. And when you did it, you felt—you knew it was the right thing to do.” She takes my hand. “That’s just my point. I want to be just like you. Heck, I’d love to sashay into Shazaaaam and blow them away with what I know about gaming. But now—well, I can’t now. And with this tiny person”—she stares down at her belly—“I know, in my heart, I’ll never have a chance at it.”
 

She’s right.
 

“Consider yourself lucky.”

From the pitying look on her face, I presume she does, deep down inside.

I’ll admit it, here and now. If it weren’t for Carl, I wouldn’t be putting myself in danger either.

I wish I could pretend I didn’t know who he is and what he’s done. I wish I could walk away from it all; that I could live a quiet, peaceful, and normal life with Jack and my children.
 

But I can’t.
 

Someone has got to stop Carl. As much as he was Acme’s mistake, he was mine as well. And had we known what we were dealing with from the start, he wouldn’t have been Lee Chiffray’s mistake, either.
 

So, now, Carl is in the best position to end Lee’s presidency, and to create a reign of terror and anarchy like the world has never known.

It’s up to me to stop him.

Well, me and someone who calls himself the Mad Hacker.

Let’s hope this isn’t a bad dream.

Chapter 9

We’re Off to See the Wizard

How exciting! You’re loading a new software program into your computer, one containing a handy-dandy “wizard.”

Whereas, in other worlds, a wizard is a person of great and mysterious powers, who knows the right spells to resolve any situation, or to vanquish any foe, in the Etherworld, a wizard is a guidance icon—perhaps a cartoon of a medieval wizard, or the Universal Man, or a paper clip with eyes—which has been given the task of walking you through the steps needed to learn the program easily, and in a respectful and nonthreatening manner.
 

Here are three things you can expect from the Wizard:

1: Unlike your husband, it won’t get tired of answering your questions or repeating the instructions again and again, until they are seared into your brain.

2: Unlike your husband, it won’t call you “clueless,” under its breath, just because you don’t understand what it wants you to do.

3: And, unlike your husband, it won’t let loose with a cry that sounds like a wounded animal when you throw the computer against the wall out of frustration.

Perhaps if your husband spoke to you in a respectful manner, you’d be just as nonthreatening to him as well.

“Wow! You and Dad will both be working at Shazaaaam?” Jeff’s eyes grow wide in reverence when we break the news to the children at dinner.
 

“Yep,” I answer nonchalantly. “Until we’re done with this assignment, Aunt Phyllis will be picking up my carpool duties, and staying here at the house.”

All three children wince at my pronouncement. Still, in looking at the bright side, Jeff asks, “Does it come with any bennies—you know, like free games?”

Jack helps himself to the last dollop of mashed potatoes off of Jeff’s plate. “It’s only for a week or so. We’re doing a corporate audit. But, hey, if they say it’s okay, we’ll certainly score as much free game time for you as they’ll allow. Just write down the titles you want, and we’ll see what we can do.” He looks over at Mary and Trisha. “They have some games that may interest you, too, so feel free to do the same.”
 

Trisha claps her hands. “Do they make the Penny Arcade games?”

“You mean, like Cupcake Shop 4?” He furrows his brow, pretending the question is a brain-tickler. Penny Arcade is a children’s television network. As it turns out, Shazaaaam is contracted to make games based on their most popular shows. Jack already reviewed the dossier on the company’s products, contracts, and management team, so of course he knows this. Still, he waits until she can no longer hold her breath in anticipation before answering with a resounding, “Yep! I seem to remember that it is one of their games.”

Trisha is so excited that she jumps up out of her chair and nearly spills her milk glass. I narrow my eyes at Jack, the instigator of what would have been this accident. If he thinks he can buy me off with a naughty grin—

Well, he’s right.

Just one more way in which he gets away with murder.

“How about you?” Jack asks Mary.

She shrugs. “Games are lame, especially those aimed at teen girls. The game companies must presume that all girls like to do is shop, be celebrities, or date them.”

“Yeah, well I guess the game designers have seen your shoe closet,” Jeff mutters under his breath, “not to mention all the
People
magazines under your bed, and the posters of those guys from
Arrow
and
Teen Wolf
hanging on your wall.
”

She tosses him a dirty look. “Only immature boys play them. Maybe the game designers follow you around and take notes.”

Of course, this only encourages Jeff to double down. “Then I guess Trevor is too immature for you to date, because he’s got the highest FPS score for GoreGasm.” He wraps his arms around himself and smacks his lips together, as if he’s kissing an invisible girl. In a voice an octave higher than usual, he mimics, “
Ooooh
, goodbye Trevor! I’m too good for you!’”
 

As Mary reaches over to smack him on the head, his milk glass tips over—

But I grab it just in time.

“Okay, alright! No more sudden moves,” I warn them. “I don’t need my best tablecloth stained over something as silly as a video game.” I turn to Jeff. “What’s an FPS?”