Alien Collective

by Gini Koch

  CHAPTER 92

  “TRUCE?” Jeff asked.

  “Later. Trust me.”

  There was a lot of chaos still, because you don’t witness what truly looks like a miracle and not talk about it. A good chunk of time was spent with security forces removing the Club 51 and other protestors, loading them into police vans, and so forth. The higher-level terrorists, as in Stephanie and the ones we could tell were Ronnie’s Kids, we held onto.

  The American Samoan delegation’s representative suggested the rest of the fifty-plus speakers pass on all the state and territory speeches and just share their delegate votes. Some states wanted to do a fast recount, which, under the circumstances, was allowed. So, while security was doing its thing, the delegations did theirs.

  Our delegation was moved back to the Candidates’ Staging Area, which was different from the regular staging area by being about fifteen feet farther away from the stage.

  Went over to Reader and Tim. “Do we have any idea what happened to Cameron Maurer and the bomb he wrested away from Christopher and Chuckie?”

  Tim nodded. “He deactivated it, then brought it back to the Embassy. It’s over in the Science Center, in a containment room.”

  “What? How?”

  Reader shook his head. “I have no idea. But I think Serene and Chernobog tinkered with his programming.”

  “Thank God for that.”

  “Yeah. Good job, girlfriend. And thanks for having your special friend fix up the convention center. I wasn’t looking forward to the repair bills.”

  “What about all the people who were hurt?”

  “All fixed, too,” Tim said. “Other than any bad guys we killed. They’re still dead.”

  “Interesting.”

  “I think that means they cast their votes with American Centaurion.” Reader flashed the cover boy grin. “At least, that’s my party line.”

  “We can hope that’s how it was interpreted. By the way, where was all the security everyone told me was going to be so very effective? And where the hell is my mother?”

  Tim grimaced. “Interesting thing. Every agency—P.T.C.U., C.I.A., F.B.I., Homeland Security, and any other Alphabet Agency that was supposed to be here—was called off this morning due to what was considered an extremely credible threat to the White House and the Pentagon. The only security left were D.C.P.D., Secret Service, and the National Guard. But we had a smaller Secret Service contingent because of all the other security that was supposed to be here, D.C.P.D. was spread thin because of all the street and crowd control they had to do, and the National Guard was kept busy and then overrun by the protestors.”

  “Reynolds was supposed to go, too, but he pretended he didn’t get the message,” Reader added. “The problem, of course, is that there was no actual threat, credible or otherwise, and the order, which was again supposedly presidential in nature, did not originate from the President or anyone on his staff.”

  “So, was Chernobog behind it, do we think?”

  “No,” Tim said. “Because Stryker and his team insist they’ve verified every keystroke she’s made. She’s also the one who determined that the order hadn’t really come from the President.”

  “So, who hacked in if the top hacker in the world and the next five best didn’t do it?”

  “I think we have her in custody,” Reader said. “Because right now our money’s on Stephanie. Or else it was the Mastermind.”

  “My money’s on Langston Whitmore.”

  “Could be,” Reader allowed. “Bottom line? We don’t know.”

  “Is my mom okay?”

  “Pissed as hell, but yeah, she’s fine,” Tim said. “So are all our bases, the Embassy, and so on. The faked order was clearly to get security away from here.”

  “Oh well, it is what it is.” As I said this, I felt like someone was watching me. Turned around to see the guy I’d knocked out on the mezzanine level. He was right behind Jeff who was somehow standing somewhat alone and sort of in the shadows, with no one nearby. And the guy I’d knocked out but hadn’t killed had a gun pointed at the back of Jeff’s head.

  I opened my mouth to scream, but the guy never fired. Because Jeff wasn’t actually alone.

  Prince leaped out from the darkness and grabbed the guy’s gun arm in his mouth as he pulled him to the ground. Ran over and kicked the gun away as Prince bore down with his jaws and the guy screamed. Tim got the gun, Prince moved to stand on the guy’s chest and growl his regrets for not killing this guy before. Reader joined us and Prince let him get the guy into cuffs as Jeff spun around, looking shocked.

  Slammed my foot into this guy’s groin. “I’ve kicked you in the head, and now I’ve kicked you in the balls,” I said as he whimpered. “If you ever try to hurt someone I care about again, I’ll kick your balls up into your stomach and your head off of your neck.”

  Prince sniffed at the prisoner intensely, barked, growled, and barked again.

  “What?” Jeff asked.

  “This is the guy who attacked Missus Maurer.” Made sense. He’d gone for me and Jeff from behind, just as he’d done with her. “Good boy Prince. You always get the perp.” Had an incredible urge to kill this guy. But I resisted the urge, because, despite what our enemies had been told and clearly believed, I didn’t kill people in cold blood. Plus, this particular prisoner would be extremely useful to have alive and in our severest form of custody.

  All the security that was supposed to have been here already finally arrived and we gave this guy, Stephanie, the waterbender, and all the others identified as high risk and somewhat in the know to the P.T.C.U. Reassured my mother that all was well, after she stopped hugging me and Jeff and allowed us both to breathe again.

  With the rest of security here, the other politicians were brought back in. Thankfully, none of them were hurt and no one had taken the opportunity to try to kidnap Armstrong or something.

  Finally the rest of the delegations were ready again. The Armstrongs and McMillans stayed with us as the delegation representatives went up one by one. And, one by one, they cast all their votes for Armstrong-Martini. As Wyoming cast the last votes, it was official—we had a unanimous vote.

  While everyone was happily congratulating everyone else, I slipped out and went to the bathroom. In part because I figured I needed to give fixing myself up a shot. But also because I knew what Sandy had meant. Made sure I was alone and locked the main door.

  Sent Buchanan a text. He called me back. “Sorry I wasn’t there, Missus Chief.” He sounded upset and worried.

  “It’s okay, Malcolm. I think you were off doing things that are bad yet helpful. But that’s not why I’m calling. I need to talk to my Uncle Peter.”

  “Hang on.”

  The phone was handed off. “Miss Katt, you are well?”

  “Yeah.” Risked a glance in the mirror. “I look just like I did when we went swimming in the Potomac. But otherwise, I’m good. So is pretty much everyone else.”

  “We saw. Impressive use of otherworldly forces.”

  “Yeah, that was a lucky break.”

  “The news reporters are calling it a legitimate miracle.”

  “How lucky we all are. Your contract on Chernobog, it was contingent on your killing her before the National Convention, right?”

  “Yes. However, we received thanks of the confirmation of our kill along with the monies owed to us. And a substantial bonus.”

  “Yeah, about that . . . Chernobog’s really amazing with all the computer stuff. And old ladies die all the time, of natural causes and all that. Apparently hospital records are amazingly easy to hack and alter, too. Who knew?”

  “So, she has faked her death and given us the credit?”

  “Yes. She died of a ‘heart attack’ that you gave her. I’m not sure how long it’ll be before the person who hired you realizes they’ve been duped. But I do figure they’ll find out. However, Chernobog is tracking the money trail. I’m hoping she can figure out who paid you, and therefore, possibly
who hired you, before they figure out she’s still alive. Is this enough for you to not kill her?”

  “She’s already dead. Why would we kill some old woman living in your Embassy?”

  “You’re the best.”

  “You ensure we keep on getting paid and also receive credit for amazing kills. We consider you the best, too.”

  “I think you’re compromised, though. Because of me. People know you care about me.”

  “They do. They also now know I care about someone who has friends who can wave their hand and perform a miracle on national and international television. I am less worried about this weakness than you are.”

  “How many of the Yates offspring are left alive?”

  “More than we would like.”

  “Did you kill some of them in their sleep?”

  “Yes. It is more humane.” He sighed. “Your protector does not want me telling you this.”

  “He thinks I’m going to dwell on it and feel guilty.”

  “Are you?”

  “Honestly? No. I didn’t ask you or tell you to do this, and I understand why you did. But I do think you need to stop.”

  “Then we will stop.”

  “That was too easy. You’ve run out of cells to clear out, haven’t you?”

  “It’s nice when goals align, isn’t it?”

  “It is. Thank you, again, for all your help. Could I talk to Malcolm again, please?”

  “Yes. We will be in touch. And if you need us, just go to your roof.”

  “Gotcha.”

  Buchanan came back on. “Sorry, Missus Chief.”

  “It’s okay, Malcolm. You’ve said it enough, and, as I told my Uncle Peter, I know why you did it. I need to know if you know how I can reach Gideon Cleary on a private, secured line, where no one else will be able to tap or hear our conversation.”

  “Yes, give me a moment.” He gave me two sets of numbers. “Dial the first one, when you click through, then call the second number. You’ll be on a secured clandestine ops line. Why are you calling him?”

  “To try to prevent you and our friends in the Assassination Squad from having to kill a lot more people, on either side. By the way, come home. It’s weird without you shadowing me everywhere.”

  He chuckled. “It’s always nice to be appreciated, but don’t let your husband know you miss me when I’m gone.”

  We hung up and I sent a text to Stryker. He also called me right away. “She found it. Interesting money trail. Led straight to where you thought it would. She has access to all his bank records now, as well as all those who are connected to him. And she took the bonus out of one of his slush funds. He won’t know for a while.”

  “Awesome. The Dingo was happy to take the deal.”

  Stryker relayed this. “She’s pleased. She says she’s happy to play dead in the Zoo. She likes our setup.”

  “I’m sure she does. Thank her for whatever she, Serene, and you guys did to Cameron Maurer. And remind her that the Mastermind and his gang will figure it all out sooner as opposed to later and she shouldn’t get sloppy. That goes triple for the rest of you. Especially since I’m sure you and the other guys are more than excited to get to learn at her knee.”

  “You know it. Oh, Olga says that it’s time for you to play hardball. But nicely.”

  “Yeah, I will.”

  “By the way, you really need to fix your hair and makeup before your speech. But the wet T-shirt look is a good one, so I’d stick with it if I were you.”

  “It’s a blouse, not a T-shirt.”

  “Trust me, Kitty, right now, it’s about the same.”

  “Ha ha ha, I’ll hurt you later, Eddy.” Hung up and dialed the numbers Buchanan had given me. Worked just like he’d said it would. Cleary answered on the second ring. “Hello?”

  “Gideon, hi. This is Kitty Katt-Martini. We’re on a secured line, just FYI. We’ve met, when your pet android was holding me up in the air.”

  “Yes, I remember. What can I do for you?” He sounded like he’d just eaten a lemon.

  “This call is about what we can do for each other. Which is why I called using a clandestine ops channel that can’t be traced or recorded.”

  “Go on.”

  “I realize that you think you’ve won by killing off an old lady who had some serious skills, by getting the Secretary of Transportation to send out fake presidential orders, and by getting the easily led Club Fifty-One people and their ilk to attack us en masse. However, I think we’ve just shown that we have some powerful friends in really high places, as well as other friends in very low places, all of whom are very willing to help us in their own special ways.”

  “Yes, what’s your point?” Interesting. He didn’t deny the Secretary of Transportation or Club 51 things. Always nice to be right.

  “I want us to call a truce.”

  “Why would I want to do that?”

  “You can dig up skeletons we don’t want revealed to the public. And then we can produce Cameron Maurer and open up his chest for the world to see. You can dig up more dirt. We have the guy who tried to kill me, Jeff, and Nancy Maurer in a severe form of custody, and we’ll share what he tells us about your dirty dealings with the world. Maybe you toss out more dirt on us. We’ll make you pay for that financially, trust me. You can kill some of ours and we’ll kill some of yours. Or . . .”

  “Or what?”

  “Or we can agree that you want to be president and Vincent Armstrong wants to be president, as well, and just run normal campaigns. Less mudslinging, more issues. I realize this goes against the majority of political precedent, but let’s agree to be the first in a long while to give it a go, shall we?”

  “What if I refuse?”

  “We empty your coffers. Easily, I might add. We call back our friends who think we’re sort of worth helping and who also think you are not, and we let them wave their very powerful hands around. We do other things you aren’t aware that we can do and make your life, or what will be left of it, a living hell. Or, you and I just agree to be polite, decent human beings and run non-smear campaigns, keeping each other’s skeletons safely in each other’s closets.”

  “I can see you’ve given this some thought.”

  “Yeah, despite my reputation, I do, occasionally, think.”

  “How long can I have to think about this?”

  “About now is long enough. Pick your side, Gideon. Choose Team Escalation or Team Truce, but pick it now. I’m a busy woman and I have an acceptance speech I need to give.”

  He was quiet for a few long seconds. Used the time to look in the mirror again and try to decide what fixes to my so-called look I could possibly manage.

  “If I pick Team Truce, how do I know you won’t use that advantage against me?”

  “Because I’m not like you.”

  He laughed. “Frankly, I think you’re just like me.”

  “No. I have morals, scruples, and things I’m just not willing to do.”

  “But you have other people do those things. So we are alike. And despite your likely expectations, I’m going to take your offer of a truce and . . . accept it. You probably think what happened today will help your side, but I know people. You’ve just shown how frightening you all can actually be. We won’t need to resort to dirty tricks to beat you, so I accept your offer of truce.”

  “Super. Oh, and as for your whole beating us fair and square without using dirty tricks boasting, we have a little saying where I come from—prove it.”

  “I will. See you on the campaign trail, Ambassador. I look forward to hearing your husband’s concession speech on the first Tuesday in November.”

  “And I look forward to hearing yours. I’ll be in touch should it seem as though your side isn’t holding to our agreement, and I’m sure you’ll do the same.”

  “Yes. Good chat, Ambassador.” He chuckled. “I’m quite looking forward to the next few months now. A new challenge is always invigorating, don’t you find?” He hung up without saying go
odbye. Decided I could find the will to go on.

  I could either go home and have Pierre fix me up or give that idea up and just go for being me. Chose what had been working for the past four or so years. Washed the sad remains of my makeup off, brushed my hair, pulled it back into a ponytail, and headed out of the bathroom.

  Jeff was waiting outside, leaning against the wall opposite the bathroom door, holding my suit jacket. He was a little rumpled, but that just made him look rakish and, if possible, even more handsome. “Want to tell me about it?”

  “When we’re home I’ll fill you in on anything you somehow missed while you were out here reading me.”

  He grinned as I pulled my hairbrush back out and ran it through his hair. “I just missed being fussed over. You think they’ll stick to the offer you made?”

  “Yes, because I just gave them another Get Out Of Jail Free card. Cleary’s many things, but stupid and foolhardy aren’t two of them.” Jeff helped me back into my damp jacket. “Can’t wait to give a speech looking like this.”

  He laughed. “You looked good before, baby, but you look like you now, and that means perfect.”

  “Flatterer.”

  “Nope. I only tell the truth, remember? Ready to go accept the party’s nomination?”

  “About as ready as I was to become a superbeing exterminator way back when.”

  He kissed me. “Then that means you’re not only ready, but you’ll be the best. Just like always.”

  “Well, to paraphrase someone I love, adore, and respect, as long as you’re with me, I can do anything.”

  Jeff put his arm around my waist and we headed back to smile, wave, and try, in whatever ways worked best, to continue to do what we truly did best—protect and serve.

  THE FIRST TUESDAY IN NOVEMBER

  TRADITION SAID that the candidates watched the election results in their home states. This meant that both campaigns were hanging out in Florida.

  While the opposition had rented out the Miami Beach Convention Center for their election night viewing party, the Armstrong campaign was hanging out at Jeff’s parents’ estate, what I called Martini Manor.