Free The Housewife Assassin's Killer App by Josie Brown Page A

practically shreds the paper.
    When she rips it from the pad and hands it to me, there are tears in her eyes.
    I can’t get out of there fast enough.
    On the way out the door, I text both Arnie and Dominic to meet me in exactly an hour, in Hamlet Park, a short distance from the IC campus. I want to make sure that what I to say to them won’t be overheard. Here, the walls have ears.
    Oh, who am I kidding? No matter where we go, we’ll be seen and heard. It’s the new reality of life in the good old U.S. of A.  
    And so, amidst a playground filled with squealing toddlers, barking dogs, and gossiping moms who seem to not have a care in the world, we’ll have a chance to figure out our next move.

    “Okay, so what have you got for me?” I snap my fingers to get both Arnie and Dominic’s attention.  
    When I got to Hamlet Park, Dominic was eyeing the toddlers suspiciously. Having just watched one child projectile vomit after a five-minute ride on the swing set, he is spooked by the thought that one of them might run into his arms and do the same all over his new six-thousand-dollar Hardy Amies bespoke suit.  
    In contrast, Arnie practically glows as he watches the children at play. He misses Emma terribly and eagerly awaits the birth of her child.  
    I wish I could say she feels the same, but in truth, she needs some time alone, to process all the changes taking place in her life in such a short period of time.
    I’m in the opposite frame of mind. I could do with a large dose of Jack.  
    Arnie sweeps his hand broadly in Dominic’s direction. “Age before beauty.”
    Dominic looks up from what he’s doing—entering in the telephone numbers of those women he feels would be, as he puts it, “receptive to a more thorough interrogation on my next visit to DC”—and scowls. “Why, I can’t be more than a month or two older than you!”
    Hearing this, the root beer that Arnie is guzzling spews up through his nose.
    In my sweetest voice, I murmur, “I’m sure all Arnie meant by that is that he doesn’t mind at all if you go first.”
    Grudgingly, Dominic nods. “As Arnie will soon detail for you, the vulnerability affected two relatively new programs that are part of the RTTI, or Rapid Technology Transition Initiative.”
    “What do they do, exactly?” I ask.
    “One of the programs provides continuous diagnostic and mitigation capabilities, protecting the IC’s IT network from all the cyber threats it receives daily,” Arnie explains. “The other program controls the LNI—the Library of National Intelligence. It’s a virtual card catalogue offering access to at least 10 million analytic products. For example, the FBI’s Biometric QuickCapture Platform program is on it.”
    “What form did the vulnerability take?”
    Arnie frowns. “In this case, it was malware that released a virus. Happens quite often, in fact. Over the past six years, the number of incidents reported by federal agencies has increased by nearly seven hundred percent. In fact, if the Mad Hacker’s calling cards hadn’t been found, the virus would have never been revealed. Interestingly enough, the virus had been planted at least a month prior to the Hacker’s clues revealing themselves.”
    “That’s odd,” I murmur. “Why re-enter, just to leave footprints when you’re already well clear of the crime scene?”
    Arnie nods. “My point exactly. As for this specific incident, whereas many of the files were accessed, only one file in the LNI was completely erased.”
    “Which one?” I ask.
    Arnie’s brows furrow into two fuzzy caterpillars. “Something called Operation Clark Kent.”
    “You mean, as in Superman?”
    He nods.
    I shake my head, confused. “It doesn’t make sense. Why take a file when you’re already hiding in plain sight?”
    Arnie shrugs. “Excellent question. Once we track down the malware’s port of entry, the answer to that may be revealed.”
    I shake my head. “We’re talking about what is