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It’s to be delivered here stateside, sometime in the coming weeks. At this point, we can presume the target destination is a commercial airport. We’re guessing the attack will take place on or before Christmas.”
    I’m stunned. “Oh my God, just in time for the travel taking place during the holidays!”
    “Exactly,” Ryan interjects. “Before the rebel and his wife could leave Libya, their buyer had them tortured and killed. Our only hope is the priest, Father Michelangelo Casari. We’ve recently discovered he was transferred here, to the Los Angeles archdiocese. But we need to get to him first before the Quorum learns of his whereabouts.” He turns to Jack. “Jack, I need you here to pull together some of your Middle Eastern resources for some deeper reconnaissance.”
    Jack starts to object, then pauses. I know he feels torn. But he’d be the first to admit his contacts in that part of the world are unparalleled in the industry. “Donna, that puts you up at bat. If you can get him to hand over the intel, we’ll be able to put the rest of the pieces of this mission in play. The clock is ticking, folks, so let’s get moving.”
     

     
    By the time our meeting breaks up, Cheever, Morton and Trevor have already found their way home. On a Monday evening after homework, Mary can usually be found on the couch, singing along with the Glee cast, but not tonight. She’s already turned in for the night.
    Standing in the middle of the upstairs hallway, I can hear sobs coming from both my daughters’ bedrooms. A rap on Mary’s door brings only silence. Okay, I get it. She’s not ready to talk.
    When I tap on Trisha’s, she it opens wide.
    I live for her hugs. There is no greater high than watching the smile grow on your child’s face when she realizes you’ve come for her, and then jumps into your arms and holds onto you, as if she’ll never let you go.
    But no, Trisha is not smiling. Her eyes glisten from the tears which have yet to follow the damp path down her plump cheeks.
    Despite my outstretched arms, she holds her ground, arms crossed.
    I bend down, so that we’re eye to eye. “Honey, Daddy told me you’re upset. What’s wrong?”
    “You lied to me, Mommy.”
    Guilty as charged, I’m sure. But I’m a parent, so that’s par for the course. Still, I wrack my brain, wondering which tiny white lie (told, no doubt, to protect her innocence) has submerged me in the roiling hot emotions, which every mother eventually finds herself parboiled. “I lied… about what, sweetie?”
    She collapses at my feet. “About Santa! He doesn’t exist!”
    Uh-oh .
    I pat her head gently. “Where did you hear that?” From Mary, or Jeff? For their sakes, I hope not, since I told both of them I’d be the one to tell Trisha, when the time came.
    I can barely hear her whisper: “Janie told me.”
    “ Janie? ”
    Wait until I get hold of Babette Breck, Janie’s mother!
    Jonah, Janie’s recently deceased father, was one of the world’s richest men. He made his wealth in munitions sales. He also happened to be a sadistic womanizer who trafficked in human sex slaves. But because of his political ties and the fact that his role as one of the Quorum’s thirteen titular heads is still classified intel, he’ll be remembered as a generous philanthropist as opposed to the devil he really was.
    The day the Brecks moved into Hilldale, Penelope muttered, “There goes the neighborhood.”
    Little did she know how right she was.
    Considering all I know about Jonah, you’d think Babette would have the good sense to zip Janie’s lips when it comes to one of life’s best-kept secrets, wouldn’t you?
    Before I can flip into spin cycle, I need more reconnaissance. “What exactly did Janie tell you?”
    “She said parents are the ones who really buy us all the toys, and that all of you are in cahoots and made up a jolly fat man called Santa, so that kids won’t ask for toys all year round!” Trisha’s words come out in