Alien Diplomacy

by Gini Koch

  “That was a help.”

  “Only because Richard was willing to get both of you into the taxi so you weren’t shot on the street. Otherwise, they stole, then lost, the only proof we had.”

  “Well, we have other clues and confirmations.”

  “No,” Jeff said patiently. “We don’t. Everyone in the know is getting their information from the same source—your new buddy the tabloid reporter.”

  “There’s more than what we got from Mister Joel Oliver, and you know it.”

  “Yeah, but I think it’s worthless. You’re placing too much faith on the so-called intelligence the Dingo passed to you.”

  We lived close to where the ball was taking place, so our conversation stopped as we got into the limo line. “We’ll be dropping you, parking, then will call for Centaurion Division agents to guard the cars,” Kyle shared.

  Reader nodded. “Good. Tim and I already vetted those teams, so we should be secure, at least in terms of the vehicles.”

  “Too bad we can’t drive them into the ballroom and just shove everyone in.”

  “No more chatter,” Jeff said. “We’re going to be live and scrutinized shortly.”

  We pulled up; Len stayed at the wheel, Kyle got out and opened the curbside door. There were flashbulbs going off. I tried not to cringe. Jeff got out first, then helped me, with Reader and Gower following us.

  There was a paparazzi line. I wondered how his peers were going to react when they saw Oliver coming in with us, but I was too busy trying not to trip. There was nothing wrong with my shoes, but I was nervous about falling flat on my face anyway.

  A long line of dignitaries flowed into the hotel. I spotted a lot of native-dress costumes, which jibed with what Pierre had said. We passed minor chitchat with those around us. I didn’t see Mom or Kevin anywhere, but I figured they were using the Covert Ops entrance.

  I looked around as we inched along. It was a lovely hotel with, as Jeff had said, a million places to hide if you were an evil bad guy waiting to off someone.

  There were a lot of big men in dark suits with the plastic earbuds in their ears. There had been a ton of them outside, and there were even more inside, literally acting as human guide rails. They weren’t wearing sunglasses, but I got the impression they’d been told to take them off as opposed to having removed them willingly.

  The rest of our group was around us now, so the four of us were in the middle, meaning I could safely ask a question. “What’s with the extras from the Matrix look? There’s a lot of that in this town. And I didn’t know we had this many Secret Service in existence.”

  “These aren’t Secret Service,” Reader said. “I checked. Titan is providing the majority of the security personnel for this event.”

  “Well, that makes sense then. So, the various Goon Squads at the airport and chasing me and Richard the other evening were on Titan’s payroll.”

  “Probably,” Jeff said. “Now, can we stop the chatter? Just smile and wave.”

  We smiled and waved as appropriate as we edged inside. There were a lot of people, and it took a good long while to get to the main security checkpoint.

  There was a bank of metal detectors. The flyboys flashed their military Get Out Of Jail Free cards and were allowed to carry in their firearms. Sadly, this meant one gun each, with no extra clips.

  The rest of us sailed through without issue. It was so much nicer than one of our gates I actually enjoyed the experience. Then it was back in line, standing between two rows of yet more Titan Goons, to filter into the main room.

  It seemed to take forever, but we were finally in the ballroom. Mom might have wanted us all in early, and maybe she and Kevin had managed it, but there were tons of people in the room before us. It wasn’t packed yet, but based on the line that had been behind us, it would be soon.

  The room was a huge oval, with a number of support columns sprinkled around, making a slightly smaller oval. The stage, which was backed by the promenade area, sat at the middle of the fat part of the oval on the far side from where we’d come in. There were extravagant buffet stations set up between the columns, with portable bars interspersed between them. Waiters cruised among the guests with trays of hors d’oeuvres and champagne.

  “Swanky. Figure the bad guys are disguised as wait staff,” I said quietly to Jeff.

  “Why would that be?” he asked as he scanned the room.

  “We seriously have to watch some TV that’s not like forty years old. Because it’s the easiest way to get access. And there are what looks like hundreds of staff in here.” And the Dingo and his ilk had no problem killing some innocent busboy and taking his place. Plus, since Titan was doing the security, that meant they’d likely let the Dingo through. I shared this thought with Jeff, who merely grunted. I got the impression he was having some empathic challenges with this particular crowd.

  This was truly a ball, so there was a large dance floor in the center of the room. Small tables clustered between it and the food and drink stations.

  I was fairly sure the President and First Lady were at the far end from us. This was based solely on the fact that I could spot the Secret Service agents. They looked different from the Titan guys—more normal and less goonish for a start. There were also a lot fewer of them, which, like so many other things, boded.

  There was also music playing. I was shocked and pleased that it was actually something that you’d hear on the radio—Bon Jovi’s “Who Says You Can’t Go Home.”

  Our entire contingent finally got inside. We clustered together near a table in the middle of the room. I noted that every other group seemed to be doing the same. This would have been okay if we weren’t trying to foil a bad-guy scheme, but since we were, it wasn’t our wisest plan.

  “We need to split up and start covering the room.”

  “I see Senator McMillan,” Caroline told me.

  “You and Michael head over to him, then.” She nodded and they wandered off. “Think the food or drink could be off?”

  Chuckie shook his head. “No, it’s tested before it comes out. All drinks are in bottles or cans before they’re put into the bars.”

  “But that just means that a waiter or bartender could slip something in after everyone thinks the food is safe.”

  “Good point.” Chuckie nodded to me, then he and Naomi wandered away from our group, Abigail and Tim following them. They headed to the nearest bar, and I saw the girls both cock their heads while Chuckie ordered drinks.

  “The girls are reading the staff,” Jeff said quietly.

  “Good. Should only take them until, what, next Christmas to finish?”

  The music changed, and now the Black Eyed Peas were suggesting it was time to hip as well as hop. “Let’s Get it Started” blared out.

  “Glad you like the music,” Jeff said. “But try to focus.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You’re rocking out.”

  “I’m so sorry. The song has a great beat.”

  “Dance,” Reader said. “It’ll help you keep an eye on the people on the dance floor.”

  “And the bait should be out in the open, right?”

  “Right.” Reader grinned at Jeff’s expression. “Go dance and have fun before things go haywire. You’re here to be seen, the rest of us are here to save the day.”

  “Yes, sir,” Jeff said. We dutifully went to the dance floor and started dancing. Reader was right—because of the kind of song it was, we were doing what I considered regular club dance moves, and that gave us the opportunity to turn around a lot.

  The song had definitely worked its magic—we weren’t the only ones on the dance floor. We danced for several songs; whoever was acting as DJ had great musical taste, at least in my opinion. Getting to dance was great, but since having no rhythm wasn’t a crime, there was no one acting wrong on the dance floor. So, dancing wasn’t finding the bad guys or helping us do the diplomatic thing. I spotted Doreen working her way through the crowd, meeting and greeting
and generally representing American Centaurion with a big smile, and I pointed her out to Jeff.

  He sighed. “I was actually looking forward to this event a week ago. But, yes, let’s go be impressively diplomatic. Maybe we’ll stumble onto whatever’s going on that way.”

  We left the dance floor and started saying hi and shaking paws. I lost track of who was who within moments. Jeff, however, was amazingly good at this. He had his charming smile, the one normally reserved for my parents, plastered onto his face, and he was making small talk as if he had been born to it. Maybe he was. Perhaps the royal genetics carried with them the ability to schmooze without missing a beat.

  I didn’t have those genetics, however, so when a couple of women sort of shoved me aside so they could get closer to my husband, I had two choices. My first one—shoving them hard the other way—wasn’t destined to do anything but start a brawl. So my second choice had to do. I wandered off to find someone else from our group.

  Sadly, I found Bryce Taylor and Langston Whitmore instead.

  CHAPTER 77

  BRYCE SPOTTED ME BEFORE I could move on. “Ambassador!” He reached out and grabbed me, pulling me near to him and Whitmore. “Great to see you. Lovely dress.” He examined it critically. “I haven’t seen one like that before,” he admitted.

  “Thank you. I’m wearing a private design.”

  Bryce and Whitmore both looked impressed. “Très belle, mademoiselle,” Bryce said with a wink.

  I decided to let his little French flirty phrase go unnoticed, especially since I hadn’t been a mademoiselle for a year now, and he knew it.

  “Lovely choice,” Whitmore said. “Now, I know the others would like a chance to chat with you.”

  “Others?” Whitmore and Bryce each took an arm and led me off to a clutch of other people. Sure enough, it was the majority of my pals from the Washington Wife class and their mates. And I was alone, with no buffer.

  Marion Villanova and Guy Gadoire, along with Leslie and Vance, were nowhere to be seen. Madeline Cartwright was also missing. I wondered if this was too “wild” a party for her, but I figured she was just around somewhere that I hadn’t seen.

  Everyone else who’d dropped by to bother us yesterday was in attendance, including Lillian “Joker Jaws” Culver. She was in a bright red dress, wearing bright red lipstick, both of which made her skin look extremely pale. Her hair was pulled back into a chignon that should have looked chic, only it and the dress were both emphasizing how bony and angular she was. She gave me a beaming smile, and I had to stop myself from jumping back to avoid the Joker’s Acid Boutonnière or whatever other tricks she had about her person.

  Esteban Cantu gave me a charming, oily smile. Either his date was elsewhere or he’d come to the event stag. “Ambassador Martini, lovely to see you.”

  The rest of the Cabal of Evil shared their joy at my presence, other than Nathalie Gagnon-Brewer, who, formal affair or not, apparently couldn’t stop going for the high score on Angry Birds.

  Lydia Montgomery was here, looking both excited and a little intimidated—like the new kid at school who’d expected to be relegated to the ranks of the Losers but was, instead, being welcomed into the Cool Kids Club and wasn’t sure if it would last or end up as the cruelest of jokes. Eugene was nowhere to be seen. I wondered if he was in the bathroom, puking his guts out, and envied him if he was.

  “Hi. Great to see you all, but I need to find my husband.” I hoped Superman, Batman, or the Flash would show up soon. I needed some support from the rest of the Justice League or the X-Men. Even Wolverine would’ve been overwhelmed by this mob.

  “Oh, but we want a chance to get to know you,” Brewer said. “We have so much we can offer American Centaurion.” He nudged Nathalie, almost imperceptibly, and she nodded, still engrossed with her cell phone.

  “And there’s so much you can offer in return,” Kramer added. Marcia was hanging on his arm and nodded enthusiastically, no nudging necessary.

  “You’ve always struck me as much more…reasonable than your husband,” Armstrong added. I noted that Armstrong’s wife, which I knew he had, was nowhere around. So either she was with Cantu’s date, or she was home.

  Lydia nodded loyally. “Eugene says you’re the real brains behind the American Centaurion mission.”

  I realized that I had three senators and a representative, let alone several other political movers and shakers, who were all under the impression that I was the weak link for American Centaurion and susceptible to their flattery and bribes. The idea was somewhat hilarious, but also insulting, and it made me mad. Good. Mad was a lot better for me than intimidated.

  “We do our best to be as reasonable as possible,” I said, while contemplating my escape route. “However, we don’t find that same mindset often reciprocated.”

  Amazing. I wanted to tell them to go to hell, but instead, I was being all polite and deflecting like a pro. No one in the Washington Wife class, Mrs. Darcy Lockwood or myself in particular, would have ever believed I’d heard a word. But make me mad and put me into this situation, and here it was, flowing out as if I’d actually studied for this final exam.

  The others nodded, frowny faces of support and concern plastered on. On Joker Jaws, in particular, this was not a good look. “We want to help you,” she said, oozing sincerity like no truly sincere person ever does. “We can all remember how hard it can be here, when you’re first starting out.”

  “It’s so difficult to know who your friends are or aren’t,” Cantu added. “There are so many times you think someone you’ve known for years is on your side, only to find out they aren’t.” Wow, he was going for the Wedge of Separation between me and Chuckie awfully fast. This seemed especially odd since I was pretty sure he was at least involved with, if not in charge of, Operation Assassination.

  “Oh, we do understand that allegiances can shift,” I allowed. “However, we’re very careful to not make quick decisions on matters of policy.”

  “You’re such a progressive country,” Lydia added earnestly. “Your religious leader, for example.” The others nodded.

  “Yes?” I was going to make them come out and say it. Why not? I still had no clear, gracious way to escape.

  “Very progressive,” Whitmore said. “More progressive than many feel comfortable with, of course.”

  “Really? How so?” I channeled Serene and ensured I looked and sounded as innocent and naïve as possible.

  They all stared at me. “Um, ah, your country’s stance on many…social issues,” Brewer said. “Very…liberal.”

  “Oh?”

  “And yet,” Armstrong said smoothly, “your country seems quite…conservative on defense issues.”

  “Do we?”

  The group staring continued. My Washington Wife classmates, in particular, seemed shocked. Clearly, my answers weren’t what they’d been expecting. Good.

  Bryce tried the flattery approach again. “You look beautiful.”

  “You’re too kind. What’s Leslie wearing?” It was a cheap shot, I had to admit, but I enjoyed it.

  Bryce looked shocked and a little panicked, but he scrambled well. “Something that looks great on her.” I managed not to smirk. I figured the last time he’d seen Leslie was when they’d walked through the door, and I doubted that he’d paid any attention to her clothing choices.

  “Bryce is right,” Marcia said quickly. “You’re in a great dress.” She sounded somewhat envious.

  I wasn’t sure if she was faking it or not, but something in her tone caused Nathalie to look up. She looked me up and down. “Your dress is beautiful, and it fits you perfectly, both in tailoring and style. If I may ask, who did the design?”

  She was a former fashion model, so it didn’t surprise me that she wanted to know. “Akiko Designs. She’s an up-and-comer.”

  Nathalie’s eyes widened. “You took quite a chance.”

  “Did I?” I laughed. “Didn’t seem like it. She’s extremely talented. I’m sure she’s go
ing to be big.”

  Nathalie smiled. “Ah, very wise. Claim her as yours now, before someone else can snap her up.” She nodded as though we were fashion insiders, then went back to Angry Birds before I could share that I hadn’t snapped anyone up, and the designer was free to have as many clients as she wanted.

  Abner took a shot at getting the conversation back onto the track the rest of them wanted. “You know, Kitty, everyone here can help you navigate through the intricacies of D.C. life. After all, as Missus Lockwood says, we’re all in this together.”

  “Are we?”

  Joker Jaws gave her husband a sharp look. “Absolutely,” she said.

  “Great. Then maybe you can tell me something I’m curious about.” They all nodded eagerly. I made sure I was able to see all their expressions. “I’m wondering if Titan Security is one of your clients.”

  Cantu and Armstrong both twitched, just a little. Bryce and Whitmore’s smiles froze. Culver paused just a little too long before she put her Joker smile back on. “How do you mean?” she asked.

  “They’re here in full force, aren’t they? I think it’s pretty impressive, and I’m wondering if you helped them get the contract.”

  “Oh, thank you.” She preened and I congratulated myself. “Yes, they’re one of the many fine companies I represent. Just as I’d like to represent American Centaurion.”

  Really? She wanted to land us as a client? Maybe. After all, whoever controlled the A-Cs had a better shot at turning us into the War Division. However, while my suspicions about Cantu and company were confirmed, it wasn’t the proof Mom or Chuckie were going to need. It was also a safe bet that none of these people would be pulling whatever triggers—the kill order had already gone out, at least so far as we knew.

  “What an interesting idea. I’ll discuss it with my husband.”

  “Do,” Culver said. “I’ll be in touch with you when?”

  “Oh, don’t call us, we’ll call you. I’m sure we have your cards from the other day.” I didn’t believe they’d left any, but it was as good a line as any other.