by Gini Koch
“He might have mentioned something about your possibly not wanting to attend because there will be other politicians in this meeting. Representative Martini told me to tell you they’re all friends.”
“So he figured I’d complain to you less and do what he asked without too much of an argument? And if I was mad because he hadn’t replied to my texts, you’d get to hear it instead of him?”
“Yes, Ambassador, that’s my take.”
Huh. Jeff was getting exceptionally sneaky in an effective way. He was learning a lot from politics and other politicians, especially in terms of how to avoid listening to his wife whine. Wasn’t sure if I was happy with this improvement or kind of annoyed that he’d anticipated my gut reaction so accurately. Settled for both.
“How much time do I have?”
“The meeting is going to start in about a half an hour, so you should have time to finish breakfast and get home without missing anything.”
“Ah. It’s not even eleven yet.”
“Yes, I have both a watch and a clock here, Ambassador.”
“Great. I mean it seems early to have a lunch meeting.”
“Per all the best books on etiquette, lunch can start as early as eleven, and, in fact, the meeting is set to start at eleven.” William was easily at an eight on the sarcasm scale and rising fast. Clearly Walter hadn’t shared that constant sucking up was a job requirement. Pity. “Are you able to get to the Embassy in a half an hour or so?”
“Well, as to that . . . um, I thought we had a limo coming to get us.”
“I didn’t take that call, Ambassador.”
“Really. Okay, if you don’t get a text or a call from me in the next five minutes, assume we have a problem and call me. If I don’t answer, we have a problem, and we’re going to need help.”
“Do you want me to send Security?”
“You mean you, since Len and Kyle are already with me? No. I want to see if I’m just a Nervous Nellie or not. I’ll contact you shortly, William.”
We hung up and I turned to Abigail. “Who did you talk to when you called for a limo?”
“Walter, why?”
“Huh.” Needed to verify if William had literally gone on duty in the short time span between when Abigail and Jeff would have called. Maybe. “I’m worried that the limo coming for us may not actually be friendly.”
“Well,” Naomi said, as she hung up her phone. “I may have the solution. Aunt Gladys is running a Security training session today and she wants me and Sis to help her with some stuff. She’s about to send a floater gate for us—and she said all of us can go there if we want, she’s calibrating for multiple people to go through at the same time. She could use your help, too, Kitty, and that way Len and Kyle would get the training, too.”
“As great as getting to the safety of Dulce sounds right now, I can’t go. Jeff’s having some impromptu lunch meeting he wants me to attend.”
“The mob’s found us,” Len said. “We need to move somewhere, Kitty.”
“We could take Jamie, let you and the guys use hyperspeed home,” Naomi offered.
“Tempting.” It was. Naomi and Abigail taking Jamie to Dulce meant she’d be safe, and the boys and I could kick butt if we had to. However, there was a drawback. “But if Jeff’s going to be home for lunch, he’s going to want to see Jamie if he can. And I don’t think he’ll be happy about her being at the Science Center instead of in the Embassy, no matter how good the reason, especially because we’re not in actual danger.”
“Yet,” Kyle muttered. “But it’s a matter of time, Kitty, and that time’s short.”
The floater gate appeared. In the olden days, I could spot them because the air around them sort of shimmered. Now that I had the special A-C Upgrade I could see the gate clearly. I hugged the Gower girls. “You two go. Two of us safe for sure is better than none. Jamie’s been in a high speed footrace before, she can handle it again.” Besides, a gray limo was pulling up to the sidewalk.
“I’ll go make sure they’re who we want them to be,” Len said. “You stay with Kitty and Jamie,” he added to Kyle.
The Gower girls gave Jamie kisses, then they went through the gate, doing the slow fade I always found nauseating to watch, but still less nauseating than it was to experience. The gate was still there as Len motioned for us to come on over as he opened the car’s door. It turned off once Kyle and I moved toward the curb.
“Run!” Len shouted.
Looked around to see why he was stressing the urgent, so I saw what Len had—the mob was running toward us, screaming and shouting.
CHAPTER 7
DIDN’T QUESTION, just grabbed Kyle and hypersped us into the limo. Decided I’d be proud of not slamming us through the other side of the limo later, when we were safely back in the Embassy.
Len slammed our door shut and jumped into the shotgun seat as Kyle and I got Jamie into her car seat. The limo driver waited until she was strapped in before he took off. Which was good for Jamie’s car safety, but not so hot for ours overall.
The mob reached us and people were literally throwing themselves on the car.
“Drive,” Len snarled. “If you run them down, too damn bad.”
“Len, that’s not right. They may be loons but we don’t want to hurt them.”
“I’m not willing to run people over,” our driver added. He was the same guy who’d taken the limo off to be “washed.”
“The hell with your delicate sensibilities,” Len said calmly, but with authority I was more used to hearing from Chuckie versus the boys. “I’m giving this order as C.I.A. You will get the Ambassador out of here, now, or I will shoot you in the head.” His gun, which he and Kyle both wore in shoulder holsters, was out and pointed at the driver’s head.
“Len, are you okay?”
“Yes. I’m just not willing for you or Jamie to be hurt because we’re trying to protect a bunch of assholes who would kill you without remorse.”
“I’m with Len,” Kyle said. “And I can overpower you, Kitty. If I have to.”
“Okay, no worries. Drive us out of here, damn the torpedoing lunatics, full speed ahead. And all that.”
Our driver floored it and, amazingly enough, people scattered. There were a lot of them on the streets, and I noted that the church wackos were adding in, presumably working on The More Loons The Merrier Plan.
“What’s your name?” I asked our driver, more to try to keep things sort of pleasant, since Len hadn’t put his gun away.
“Burton Falk. I work with Mister Buchanan. I’m not the Ambassador’s enemy.” We weren’t going that fast, but we were going fast enough that we were moving through the throng.
“Get her home safely and we’ll discuss it,” Len said. “With you and Mister Buchanan, if necessary.”
“Burt, the boys are just a little tense. Being chased by mobs all over the place tends to do that to a person.”
Falk turned onto a main street, and we lost most, though not all, of the protestors. “I understand. You realize that if we ran anyone over it would create incredibly bad publicity?”
“Let me explain how much the C.I.A.’s Extra-Terrestrial Division cares about bad publicity when faced with the option of one of the highest ranking A-Cs being in extreme physical danger,” Len said “It’s a short explanation.”
“We don’t give a f—, ah, crap,” Kyle said.
“Nice save, Kyle. Look, Burt, the boys just want proof we’re all really on the same side. So, let’s get home and we can all have a Coke and a smile and laugh about this.” We were clear of people with signs, which was nice. Wasn’t sure if they would be waiting for us when we got home, but we’d worry about it in a couple minutes.
“Ha ha ha,” Falk said. “This is me laughing in a relaxed manner.”
“Wow, did Malcolm request mouthy agents or am I just that kind of lucky?”
Falk grinned. “Mister Buchanan requested agents who are able to, and I quote, ‘both give it and take it from the Ambassador, w
ho is a lot like her mother, particularly in the ball-busting category.’ So, it’s a request and you’re that lucky.”
“Gosh, I hope you’re really on our side, because I like you already.”
Falk was a good driver, though I felt Len was better. As Len had on the way out, he didn’t take a direct route home. In fact, he took a circuitous route that took a good half an hour, meaning while I should have been early for Jeff’s lunch thing, I was probably going to be late. It so figured. But since I’d already texted William that I was okay, I sent another text sharing that we’d be late. Then a few more random ones just because I wanted to pay him back for the sarcasm from earlier.
Amazingly enough, there were no protestors in the street when we finally got in sight of the Embassy, and we got into the garage without incident.
The A-Cs who’d been with Falk the first time were waiting for us in the garage, which was weird but I chose not to mention it because I wasn’t sure I wanted to have another round of verbal sparring with Falk—Len still had his gun out.
“Mister Buchanan needs us all, right now,” one said to Falk, who nodded.
“See you and ‘the boys’ around, Ambassador.” Falk and his three A-Cs zipped off.
“Officially, on record, I don’t like him,” Len said as he holstered his gun.
“Me either,” Kyle added as he holstered his. I hadn’t realized Kyle had had his gun out, which was impressive on his part and par for my not-noticing-some-important-things course.
“You two are just transferring your feelings about Malcolm onto Burt.”
“No. I don’t like him for himself,” Len said.
“Ditto,” Kyle chimed in. “But whatever. Let’s get Jamie up to daycare, where it’s actually safe.”
The Embassy Daycare center was on the fourth floor, so we zipped upstairs. Dropped Jamie off with lots of hugs and kisses, and filled Denise Lewis, who ran the center, in on what had transpired, while Len and Kyle went and got our pets.
Jamie insisted that all the dogs and cats had to be with her in daycare, so the cats had their own Feline Winnebago, which was a converted, enclosed, rather large red wagon. The Poofs traveled with the cats, and sometimes on the dogs’ backs. I was fairly sure each dog and cat had at least one Poof they called their own. But Poofs for everyone and more Poofs for me was my motto, so it was all good.
That done, told the boys to have a little down time to relax, and I headed off to find the meeting I was supposed to be attending. Considered going upstairs and changing clothes, or at least brushing my hair, but William had said that Jeff had said that the politicians coming were all friends, and our friends were certainly used to seeing me in jeans and an Aerosmith shirt.
Realized I had no idea where Jeff was holding this meeting. It could be in our apartment, for all I knew. “Com on.”
“Yes, Ambassador?”
“William, where am I supposed to find my main man and his lunchtime cronies?”
William chuckled. “In the kitchen, Ambassador. They just arrived a few minutes ago, so you haven’t missed anything important, I’m sure.”
“Oh, what a relief that is.”
Headed down to the first floor, using hyperspeed and the stairs so that, should Christopher be in the meeting, I could confirm that I was practicing all the time, everywhere. I sometimes got tired of being chastised for having the nerve to use the elevator, and after this morning I knew I wouldn’t have the grace to handle said chastising well, so chose discretion as the better part of valor.
The first floor, being the main entryway and therefore the place the most people who weren’t part of American Centaurion in some way would come in, had the most normal stuff in it. Offices, dining room, kitchen, and some small parlors and salons. No one was in any of the rooms as I went by, meaning they were likely all in the kitchen. This meeting seemed a lot more important all of a sudden.
As I neared the kitchen I heard voices. “. . . been quiet for the past few months.” A voice I didn’t recognize. Supposedly the politicians here were all friends, but I knew our friends’ voices.
“That doesn’t mean plans aren’t forming, it just means we haven’t spotted what they are.” That was a voice I recognized without trying—Chuckie was here. Know a guy since the first day of ninth grade, know his voice at any time. “Sir, I don’t want to sound negative, but you need to consider the ramifications of what you’re suggesting.”
Sir? Chuckie almost never called anyone “sir.” Wondered if I had time to go up and change into the Female Armani Standard Issue.
Someone’s head popped around the door. Jeff’s head, to be exact. He smiled. “You look great as always, baby. Come on, you’re just in time.”
“Just in time for what?”
“Just in time to meet the head of the F.B.I.’s newly created Alien Activities Division.”
CHAPTER 8
CONTEMPLATED ALL I COULD SAY. Most of my responses revolved around the idea that I was absolutely not dressed right to meet the new head of anything, let alone the head of a new division of the F.B.I. created just for us, so to speak.
However, duty called and by now everyone in the room knew I was standing in the hallway. Decided that going for what usually worked every time would probably work now. Stood up straight, stuck the twins out, and walked in.
There were several people I knew in attendance—Christopher and Amy, Paul Gower and Richard White, representing the current and former Pontifex positions, Senators Vincent Armstrong and Donald McMillan, Representative Nathalie Gagnon-Brewer, McMillan’s Girl Friday and my sorority bestie, Caroline Chase, our Embassy Troubadour-at-Large, Rajnish Singh, and, of course, Chuckie, aka the head of the C.I.A.’s E-T Division. Clearly, I was privy to quite the Power Lunch.
We had one person missing who I would have thought would be in attendance—Denise’s husband, Kevin Lewis. He was my mom’s right-hand man in the P.T.C.U. and was the Embassy’s Defense Attaché. Under the circumstances, he should have been here. Tabled asking where he was for later.
Chuckie and Gower were both doing their best not to show how amused they were by my entrance. Amy and Caroline weren’t hiding their amusement at all. Christopher was, of course, glaring—Patented Glare #1. However, the person in the room I didn’t know seemed appreciative.
He gave me a beaming smile as he stood and put his hand out. “Ambassador Martini, it’s so good to get to meet you in person. I’m Evander Horn.”
I put him at about White’s age, so late fifties. He was a big guy—not quite as big as Jeff and Gower, but bulkier than Chuckie, and, like all three of them, over six feet. He had close-cropped black hair, medium brown skin, and sparkling dark brown eyes. He was nice looking—not A-C level, but a human who was definitely easy on the eyes.
Horn was also in the typical Washington Uniform, which meant either a navy or a gray pinstripe suit, coordinated shirt and tie, and fancy wingtips. He was in the gray, with a lighter gray shirt, red tie, and light brown wingtips. It looked good on him.
McMillan and Armstrong were both in the navy version of this look. All the other men, Chuckie included, were in the male version of the Armani Fatigues—black suit, white shirt, black tie, black shoes. Even before Chuckie had married in he’d adapted and worn the Fatigues. Wondered how long it would be before, or if, Horn would adapt his clothing choices.
Gave him my hand and we shook paws. “Nice to meet you, too, Mister Horn.”
“Please, call me Vander.”
“And please call me Kitty. Congratulations on your new position.”
He smiled again. “Thank you. I hope.” The others chuckled.
“Gosh, just what have I missed?” Figured I’d missed a lot, but who knew? And since no one had asked me about my morning, I knew they’d missed a lot, too. But now was, perhaps, not the time to bring up my Fun With Loons Extravaganza.
Horn sighed as he sat and Jeff helped me into a seat and sat down himself. “Not much. We were just starting to get down to brass tacks. After
the incident in December, the President demanded some changes.”
“You mean after over two dozen Representatives were killed off, the President wondered why the F.B.I. hadn’t taken a more personal interest?”
Nathalie was doing better six months after Operation Sherlock, at least outwardly, mostly because she’d been asked to take Edmund’s seat in the House and hadn’t had much of a choice but to do the whole stiff upper lip thing. Amy patted Nathalie’s arm and Caroline squeezed her hand.
“Yes, that’s exactly what I mean,” Horn said. “The President wasn’t happy that the C.I.A. has been the point agency for alien activities for so long. Homeland Security at least had Cliff Goodman in place, but we at the F.B.I. had really nothing focused on American Centaurion.”
“That anyone knows of, you mean.”
Horn raised his eyebrow. “Would you mind explaining that?”
I shrugged. “Just because the Bureau didn’t have any official division or whatever watching us, you can’t make me believe that no one over there knew aliens existed on Earth, nor can you make me believe that there weren’t plenty of people who wanted their piece of the alien pie. Maybe nothing was official, but I don’t buy for a New York Minute that a host of someones over at the Bureau weren’t chomping at the bit to get their claws into us.”
“Someone didn’t have enough coffee at breakfast,” Christopher muttered.
Horn chuckled. “They told me you were blunt and bright. I see they weren’t wrong.”
“Who’s ‘they’?” I liked to know who was talking about me. It helped determine if what “they” had said was likely to be flattering or not.
“Cliff Goodman for one. The President, for another. Several of the Joint Chiefs of Staff.”
“Bet the Secretary of Transportation wasn’t one of them.”
“No, Langston Whitmore isn’t a fan of yours. But others are, including Colonel Franklin at Andrews Air Force Base. And, of course, the head of the P.T.C.U.”
“Well, my mom is sort of required to say I’m awesome, isn’t she?”