by Gini Koch
“I’d count this as them letting you know,” Buchanan said dryly. “However the package didn’t come into the Embassy via conventional means. It was put into the tunnels and sent up through the basement. Which is the only reason we were able to evacuate in time.”
Looked at Lucinda. “I take back any and every complaint about you taking Jamie and the others with you to the rally. You’re the best mother-in-law on the planet.”
She shook her head and hugged Jamie, who she’d claimed from Adriana during my phone call with Cameron Maurer’s dear old mum. “I didn’t know about this when we left.”
“Take credit for the brilliant ideas as they come and never apologize for them, especially when they’re shown to be brilliant after the fact.” Hey, that had been my motto since day one with the gang from Alpha Four, after all.
Pierre cleared his throat. “I’m sorry, Ambassador, but should the children and the, ah, non-essential personnel be involved in this meeting? Or, to put the question another way, where would our lovely Host Ambassadress like me and some of the others to take our darling little pitchers?”
Embassy personnel only called me Ambassador when people we didn’t like or trust were nearby, or if I was missing something really important and they wanted me to focus on their words carefully.
Leave it to Pierre, versus me, to point out that “little pitchers have big ears” and that the kids hearing about scary things happening where they lived or spent most of their days might not be in the Happy Child Rearing Handbook. Wished he’d done it sooner, but there hadn’t been time for him to do that politely, and even when he was delivering a cutting insult, Pierre was always polite. He was an excellent example for the children of how to behave in all social settings.
Mona called in some of her embassy personnel, including their embassy physician, and they took the kids, Lucinda, Pierre, and Denise off to whatever tastefully decorated room was now declared the impromptu Bahraini Daycare Center. Walter sent Jeremy and Jennifer with them as well to provide protection, and since Jennifer was going, Ravi was going, and if Ravi was going, all of Hacker International felt they were going, too. Buchanan seemed fine with this, so I didn’t argue.
Tito and Mahin joined the Daycare Team, Tito because he was having a conversation with Dr. Zainal and Mahin because she was having a conversation with two of Mona’s embassy staff. Fine with me—someone should be turning this into a fun time, and that meant more people protecting the kids.
Mona also took the opportunity to ask for tea service to be delivered, both to us and to the kids and their retainers. Either her staff kept the tea stuff ready 24/7 or else she had a couple of A-Cs doing kitchen duty, because tea, finger sandwiches, tea cakes, and the like appeared quickly.
“So,” I said after I’d had a few sandwiches, two cups of tea, and some cakes, to keep my strength up and stress level down, “I still point out that we have the best shielding around encircling our embassy, and it covers the lower portions, too. Nasty things bounce off the shield. So, was it off or damaged?”
“No, Chief,” Walter said. “However, the shields aren’t made to stop gas. If they were, we’d die when shielded because oxygen wouldn’t get through.”
Chose not to ask why I didn’t know this already and also chose not to ask myself why I’d never wondered about this, either. I’d taken chemistry and other sciences in school. Since Jeff and Chuckie weren’t here, gave myself a “duh” on their behalf.
“How in the world did they get gas into our Embassy, though? Through what means? And in such a way that we were actually able to evacuate without anyone becoming contaminated or dying. And if we weren’t so able, I want names and risk levels right now. I’m asking for specifics, not generalities, by the way. And I’m asking very officially.”
“We don’t know how they got the gas in,” Buchanan said. “Which is part of the problem.”
“Only part?”
“We got everyone out before the gas could reach the first floor,” Walter said before I could get even more sarcasm going.
“Only just,” Melville added. “If the warning hadn’t come when it did, there would have been casualties.” His phone rang and he answered it. His eyes narrowed and I decided I wanted to table the rest of this conversation until he was done. To be polite. And so I could eavesdrop. And have another little cake and cup of tea. Hey, the morning had, so far, been quite energetic.
Melville grunted. “Where? How many target areas? Really? Interesting. How many casualties? Oh? Good. Yes, that times out correctly. Yes. Yes, I agree. No idea, honestly, but I’ll keep you apprised. Thanks, Chief.” He hung up and heaved an angry sigh. “Bombs were activated at the protest. We got these folks out just in time—they detonated no more than a minute after we’d cleared the area.”
“How close to where we were did they go boom?”
Melville grimaced. “The targets were around the perimeter. No casualties, just a few minor injuries. The Chief thinks in part because we were taking you all away and that created interest in where we were. The bombs weren’t near you or our exit route.”
“So they were set off to drive us home,” Serene said. Everyone turned to her, which was wise. In my opinion, when the Resident Explosives Expert Supreme was speaking about things going boom, we should all listen.
“I don’t disagree, but why do you think so?”
“Because an explosive of any decent magnitude should have hurt someone there, Kitty. But if they were done more for show, like fireworks, then the likelihood is that they were set up with a limited blast radius. Meaning they didn’t really want to hurt anyone there, they just wanted them to panic.”
“And frightened animals run to the safety of their nests, and we’re all animals at our cores. That makes sense. So, they blow things up, and we all run into the Embassy which, if that had worked out, would have been filled with deadly gas, and we all die before we can figure out that the people inside are already dead. Officially, I hate whoever’s doing this. Not that this could possibly come as a surprise to anyone.”
Culver looked pissed. “You’d have taken anyone near you with you, too.”
“Beg pardon?”
She rolled her eyes. Not her best look, but whatever, we were currently on the Bestest Buds side of the embassy, and I was willing to try to keep us there. “Kitty, I know you, and so do your enemies. You’re a protector. So, you’d grab anyone who was terrified and try to get them to safety. And where would be safer to you than your Embassy? Meaning they’d have killed me, Vance, Nathalie, and anyone else who knew you and was nearby. Your Embassy was much closer to the protest than this one.”
“Our enemies so rarely care who else they hurt while they try to hurt us, Lillian’s theory both makes sense and comes as no surprise. Okay, so, if someone’s loosed a deadly gas in our embassy, how is that not spreading throughout all of Embassy Row?” Looked at Olga. “Oh, God, is that why you’re here?”
“No, no,” she said reassuringly. “I am here because the game is afoot and Mister Buchanan felt that if your embassy was compromised, Adriana and I could be targeted as well.”
Somehow she thought this statement was reassuring? Or that it indicated that deadly gas wasn’t wafting through all of Embassy Row? Had to wonder about my friends sometimes. “Ah, what about the rest of the Embassies around us? And everyone else in the Romanian Embassy? And so on?”
“The area around you has been evacuated,” Buchanan said. “Natural gas leak is the official cause.”
“Okay, so who’s risking their lives to verify that the area is secure?” Had to figure Centaurion agents would be assigned to this—hyperspeed meant they had the best chance of getting away if things were dire.
“Airborne.”
CHAPTER 6
CHECKED LORRAINE AND CLAUDIA’S expressions, in case I’d heard wrong. They looked as freaked out as I felt. “Excuse me, did I just hear you correctly?”
Buchanan nodded. “Yes. Airborne is in charge of Embassy contaminati
on cleanup and safety verification.”
Tried not to let my voice hit the dog-only register. Failed. “So, the team that has only humans on it, that’s the team everyone decided should go in with the deadly gas?”
Way back not so long ago I’d been the Head of Airborne. Shoved a longing for the Good Old Days away—as Olga had said, the game was afoot and I needed to focus on the here and now. Airborne consisted of Tim Crawford, who’d moved up to my old position, and my five Navy Top Gun flyboys, two of whom were Lorraine and Claudia’s husbands, Joe Billings and Randy Muir. So, as I was understanding it, my guys and their husbands were tramping around Potentially Poisoned Gas Ground Zero.
“No,” White said calmly. “The team with the closest U.S. military ties is using their influence and skills to ensure that those who are helping to decontaminate our buildings and those surrounding us aren’t, at the same time, planting bombs or listening devices, and so forth.”
“They’re all in protective gear,” Buchanan added.
“I wanted to go with them, Chief,” Walter said. “But I was overruled.”
“By whom?”
“By the Head of Security.”
A year ago, that would have been Gladys Gower, who had been pretty much the most formidable woman ever, right after my mother and Olga, at any rate.
But Gladys had died a year ago. The lump in my throat that thinking about anyone we’d lost from our side always gave me was even larger when I thought about who we’d lost during Operation Infiltration.
But we’d had to go on, and I had to go on now, too. William Ward, Walter’s older brother, had been moved into the Head of Security role. Meaning that he’d ordered his little brother to get to safety with everyone else. However, since Security always stayed, even when everyone else had to evacuate, that meant that the danger had been extreme. Which made sending Airborne in seem, in some ways, even more foolhardy.
Tried to think about this like Buchanan would have, since it was clear that he was in charge of Mission: Evacuation. Wanted to ask why we weren’t sending the people with the hyperspeed, but reminded myself that we were doing our best to keep as many A-C powers secret as possible. As it was, Jeff being the top empath in, most likely, the galaxy was far too common knowledge.
So, this was a very public thing, and in fact the police had been called and were involved. Meaning Buchanan wanted to ensure that the police, and human military, remained obviously in charge. After all, he hadn’t said that Airborne had no A-C Field Teams assisting, just that Airborne was in charge.
“Okay, Malcolm, I’ll assume that you, Tim, and the rest of the team have things under control.”
“I’m so flattered,” he said in a tone that indicated he actually wasn’t. “Really, Missus Chief, what do you take all of us for, amateurs?”
“Someone’s an amateur,” Vance said. “Because they let Cameron Maurer’s mother call Kitty.”
Chose not to mention that this was actually an impressively smooth conversational shift Vance had just advanced, and instead thank him silently and go with it. “Did they let her? Or was she trying to drive us into the Embassy to be sure we all died today?”
Vance shook his head. “She sounded frightened for you, and for herself.”
“Yeah, well, good old Leslie Manning sounded all worried for her safety, too. In order to get me into a position to try to kill me. So, you know, call me Miss Suspicious, but I’m not buying into the coinkydink.”
“Leslie was an android, though,” Vance said. “And before you say it, why in the world would anyone spend the time and money to make an android of a little old lady?”
“I’m more interested in who the ‘he’ was who she feared would kill her,” Mona said. “Did she mean her son?”
“There are so many options for Suspect of the Moment that we probably don’t have enough to go on to guess. But I’d really like to hear Olga’s opinion on my not-so-mystery caller.”
Olga shrugged. “I agree with the young man—Nancy Maurer sounded sincere and frightened for more people than just you, Kitty. I would suggest that this bears investigation.”
“Would that investigation be related to the deadly gas contamination, the bomb explosions, or its own special thing?”
“Why assume they aren’t connected?” Amy asked. “It seems like everything’s always connected.”
“Sometimes.” Considered who wasn’t doing a lot of talking and, under the circumstances, that seemed odd. “I’d like to hear what Mister Joel Oliver has to say on all that’s been going on today.”
He shook his head. “I was visiting Madame Olga when all the excitement happened.”
“Wait, what? You weren’t at the protest? You, the investigative journalist supreme, passed up that opportunity? Pull the other one.”
Mr. Joel Oliver had first come onto my radar during the festivities leading up to my wedding. That Chuckie—who I called the Conspiracy King because he’d always been into all the stuff everyone thinks is crazy to believe in, and was proven to be right every day of my life these last few years—felt Oliver was the most in-the-know reporter out there had been frightening at first.
But Oliver had proven to be a friend, and a trustworthy one at that. And when American Centaurion had been outed as being the aliens living on Earth he’d always said they were, Oliver’s cachet had risen dramatically. He was no longer that lunatic paparazzo; instead he was now the man with the insider information. However, while he’d stopped being journalism’s laughingstock, he’d not stopped being Mr. Well-Informed. Chuckie got at least half of his accurate tips from Oliver and his network. That’d he’d missed a big deal protest being bombed in his backyard seemed far-fetched.
“It’s true,” Oliver said with a shrug. “And before you ask, no, I wasn’t given any tips in regard to the explosions at the protest or the attack on your embassy, let alone whatever Missus Maurer was calling about.”
“Are you feeling okay?” Vance asked solicitously. He was Oliver’s self-admitted biggest fan, and pretty much thought Oliver walked on water. Figured Vance was ready to demand that Tito do a full physical on Oliver. Not that I could blame him. Oliver almost always knew what was going on.
“Yes, I’m well.” Oliver sighed. “I was working on . . . something else of extreme . . . delicacy.” He shot me a meaningful look.
Decided to both take the leap and not say aloud where I was leaping to, which was that Chuckie had asked Oliver to do a special assignment. Clearly one that had involved Olga and her Font of Knowledge. In part because she was wheelchair-bound, Olga liked to really make you work for the answers. Oliver had the best track record with her, and also the most patience for the game.
“Okay, so you two weren’t there. I’m still wondering how it is that Missus Maurer, if that was really her, thought we were still at the protest. Did we somehow not make the news for once?” Since Operation Destruction, we’d made the news with alarming frequency.
“Let’s see,” Mona said. She nodded to Khalid, who pushed a button on the wall, making a whole panel of books slide to the side, revealing a ginormous flatscreen TV. He had a remote and started flipping through the channels.
Khalid settled on CNN, where reporters were breathlessly discussing explosions and asking if homegrown or foreign terrorists were responsible. What they weren’t saying was anything about our being taken away by the police. Because the reporters weren’t talking about explosions at the protest.
They were talking about explosions at C.I.A. Headquarters.
CHAPTER 7
IN TIMES OF GREAT STRESS, there is always the choice to freak out or to stay calm. I amazed myself and went with calm. “Malcolm, am I correct in believing that my husband, my mother, my best guy friends, the Supreme Pontifex, and several other key men attached to my diplomatic mission are all at Langley right now?”
“They were,” he replied tersely, as he made a call. He stepped to a part of the room that no one was in and started speaking in a low voice.
&
nbsp; Buchanan was busy. I could trot over to eavesdrop, but he clearly didn’t want to be sharing. Fine. I turned to Serene. “Did your team happen to take care of hiding the bombs at the protest, or our removal from it?”
She was texting on her phone. “No, Kitty. I just checked. Imageering didn’t have anything to try to alter. There was no footage of us being dragged away. They have nothing of use from Langley, by the way.”
The word “try” wouldn’t have been used in relation to our imageers a year ago. But a year ago we were hit by the best hacker in existence, Chernobog the Ultimate. She’d not only wiped all our data, but she’d put some kind of anti-imageer bug into the digital systems worldwide. We still hadn’t isolated what it was that was affecting the digital feeds, but whatever it was, the imageers were blocked from all digital images.
Considering imageering talent meant that said imageer could touch an image and know everything about the person in the picture, that they were blocked was beyond frightening. Film was still “seeable” for most imageers, but right now they could read digital just like a regular human could—with their eyes only.
Christopher White, who was Amy’s husband and the most powerful imageer we knew of, said that pictures took copies of people’s minds and souls as well as their bodies. So whatever had been put into the digital airwaves was somehow blocking said minds and souls.
Christopher would be with Jeff and the others at Langley, as would Kevin Lewis, who was Mom’s right hand man in the P.T.C.U. and also our Defense Attaché. We probably had other guys there I wasn’t thinking of, too, because that’s just how our luck ran. So everyone’s husband was in some kind of mortal peril right now, how nice. Except for maybe Serene’s and Lucinda’s. Got a nervous feeling in my stomach. “Can we see if there are more attack sites than the protest and Langley?”
“Funny you ask,” Abigail said with no humor in her tone. “I’ve been checking our bases worldwide with William and Uncle Alfred. The Kennedy Space Center was just attacked.” NASA Base, where Jeff’s father, Alfred, worked, was part of Kennedy. “William had already put all bases on full alert due to the Embassy being attacked, so no one was hurt.”