by Gini Koch
“Yeah. We took their stuff, they go one further and not only take, but wipe out, all of ours.”
“Okay,” Jeff said slowly. “I can see that. And it would prevent us from using their information against them. But that means you two are saying that Gaultier was involved with what happened yesterday.”
“Why not? We were pretty sure that Gaultier had someone vying for the Apprentice job, potentially more than one.” My vote was every one of the Land Sharks. Maybe they were an Apprentice Collective. “What if whoever over there won the job?”
“Or if new trials are going on,” Raj said.
“Any one of the three trying to block me could be the Apprentice,” Amy agreed. “I wouldn’t be surprised if all three were going for the job, in that sense. They work together, but they’re not tight. I’d call them rivals, at best.”
“Titan and YatesCorp have to be considered,” Buchanan said. “The room the hostages were in could have been put under Gaultier to throw suspicion onto them.”
“That’s also the part of the tunnels no cameras catch,” Stryker said. “So the possibility of coincidence is there.”
“The room was gone by the time we went back to examine it,” Buchanan added. “And by ‘we’ I mean the P.T.C.U. and by ‘gone’ I mean gone without a trace, Poof Traps as well.”
“We were chained up in a room,” Melanie said dryly. “Believe me, there were walls and a door.”
“Plywood and chicken wire go up fast and come down faster,” Buchanan said. “But if I hadn’t seen Walter’s team and the Marines on video while it was happening, I’d have said the entire thing was faked.”
“Just like the moon landing,” Stryker said.
“Not now, Eddy. Real conspiracies are afoot, let’s focus on those.” Forged on while Stryker grumbled to himself. “We need to figure out who hired Chernobog. We find out who’s signing the Ultimate Hacker Checks, we find out who’s really in charge.”
“Chernobog might not be doing it for money,” Stryker said. “If we assume some of the myths are real, then he’s worked just for the fun of it as often as he’s done it for a paycheck.”
“She,” Olga said, as Len wheeled her into the room. “Chernobog is a woman, though she allows the world to think of her as male.”
“How Yentl of her.”
Olga gave a short laugh. “Yes, in that sense. Part of the reason Chernobog is so . . . vicious . . . in her attacks is because she was tired of constantly being doubted because she was a woman.”
“I’m sure you and my mom went through similar discrimination, and yet you’re not trying to take out the computer systems of the entire free world.”
“Chernobog is not . . . stable.” Olga looked at Stryker. “I’m sad to say that every myth about Chernobog is real.”
“Can we protect against her?” Stryker asked. “Because two days ago I’d have said yes, but yesterday we were hacked like we were preschoolers.”
Olga nodded. “Yes, but it will take more help.” She turned to me. “Your friends the Israelis would be of much assistance with this.”
“They have good hackers?” Potentially they did. I had no idea; it wasn’t something I’d ever chatted about with our Mossad friends who were attached to the Israeli Embassy. We were usually talking to them about assassins and interstellar invasions and things of that kind of fun nature. Of course, hackers and their ilk fell under Chuckie and Stryker’s bailiwick as far as I was concerned.
Olga barked another short laugh. “Yes, but not as good as those working for you. No, the Israelis have something much, much better and, to Chernobog, far more valuable.” She smiled. “They have Chernobog’s son.”
CHAPTER 54
IT’S HARD TO MAKE a room full of people silent, but Olga was a pro at it.
I liked to play Stump the Room, too, though, so I had a comeback question. “Do you happen to know who her son’s father might have been?”
Olga looked surprised. Managed not to jump up and try to high five anyone, though it took effort. For all I knew, she was just being encouraging so that I’d continue to ask intelligent questions versus the kindergarten-level ones I usually managed.
“No one knows for sure, other than Chernobog, at least presumably.” Olga’s lips twitched. “She was not an . . . attractive woman in our youth and I doubt she’s improved with age.”
Ronald Yates hadn’t been all that selective. Or rather, I knew he’d been willing to spread the “love” around a lot, and having a kid with the world’s best hacker would seem like a total Mephistopheles move as well.
“Christopher, can you still rev up enough imageering juice to draw a picture on the air?”
This earned me Patented Glare #5. “Yes. Why?”
“Kitty wants us to describe the cameraman to you so you can draw him,” Melanie said.
“So that we can see if he’s anyone someone recognizes,” Emily added.
“Yeah, and be glad Lorraine and Claudia aren’t here yet, because they’d have said the same, only they’d have both added a big ‘duh.’ My impression of Ronaldo Al Dejahl is that he imitates real people. I don’t know that he has the ability or desire to make up a ‘new’ person. The idea might never have occurred to him.”
“Probably not,” Christopher said. “It’s not like shape-shifting. It’s creating a three-dimensional drawing and then superimposing it over and around you.”
“Okay, then we need the Swarthy Slapper ‘drawn.’”
Christopher heaved a sigh, but he got up and the three of them went to the part of the room where Pierre had installed a nice motorized projector screen. Melanie lowered it and they got Christopher working on his version of shadow puppets.
“Why?” Jeff asked. “Who do you think he is, or Al Dejahl was pretending to be?”
“Well, some will depend on whether or not he looks like anyone we or Olga know. Olga, what’s Chernobog’s real name, and what’s her son’s name?”
“Her real name was erased before I ever knew her, and she never stayed with one code name too long, other then Chernobog, which she only uses for computer-related work. Her son goes by many names. The Israelis know him as Russell Kozlow.”
Tim was busy texting. “Oren, Jakob, and Leah are checking into him for us. The three of them say that they don’t know who he is.”
Olga nodded. “They are young, and Kozlow was imprisoned at least fifteen years ago.” She was being vague, so either she wasn’t sure, or there was a reason she hadn’t given us a firm date of imprisonment.
“For what, exactly? I’m assuming terrorist activity of some kind, but the specific kind could be quite relevant to our current interests. And, while I know your first, second, third, and fourth instincts are to make us all work for it, after the day in Hell we had yesterday, we’re all just flat out begging you to make it easy on us and simply share the intel without the usual fun and games.”
Olga laughed softly. “As you wish. Yes, terrorist activity. Cyber crimes, mostly. Much of it focused on American business interests.”
“YatesCorp, specifically?”
Olga smiled. “See? You didn’t need to beg for the information. Some focused on Titan and Gaultier as well, though.”
“Gotcha. Nice to know the main Businesses O’ Evil all got some cyber terrorist love. Okay, so what are the odds that Kozlow is yet another Yates kid running around?”
“With the way our luck runs?” Tim asked with a short laugh. “High.”
“Ready, Kitty,” Melanie called.
“It’s hard for me to hold this image,” Christopher said through gritted teeth. “So you’d better look fast.”
Most of the room pulled out their cell phones and snapped pictures of the man Christopher had superimposed on the wall.
“Or you could all take pictures because they last longer,” Emily said with a laugh.
“Keep it up as long as you can anyway, Christopher,” I said.
“Said the Actress to the Bishop,” Amy added.
The humans in the room all snickered. The A-Cs all looked blank. Cultural differences continued to keep things interesting.
The man was just as Emily had described him—a little shorter than Christopher, swarthy, kind of chubby, definitely not a looker. He’d sounded Middle Eastern but accents could be faked. He definitely had a “browned by the sun” look, though.
“I don’t see enough of a resemblance to how I remember Chernobog to be sure,” Olga said regretfully.
“I don’t see family in there, either,” White added, as the image flickered and then disappeared.
“Christopher, can you make the skin tone lighter?” I handed him my phone.
He fiddled with the screen for a bit while I watched over his shoulder. “Anything else?”
“Make him thinner. Not skinny, stocky, maybe, but take off the chub.”
“Making your perfect man?” Christopher asked, sarcasm knob heading toward eleven.
“No, I married my perfect man.”
“Thanks, baby. What are you doing, though?”
“Ronaldo is more used to doing the image overlay than Christopher is. And while I don’t credit him with a lot of creativity on his own, if he’s imitating a real person, and that person comes from an espionage background, he might have had Ronaldo make some specific changes.”
Christopher finished. “Ignoring the dig at my abilities, changing skin tone wouldn’t be difficult, especially if you had someone with the right tone nearby to imitate. Same with the extra weight—you’d start with the original, then alter from there, and again, it’s easier to do if you have a model to copy.”
“Which they do, because a goodly number of their recruits are from the Middle East and I’m sure there are at least a few of them who aren’t lean, mean, fighting machines. So, Richard, Olga, take a look now.”
Stryker took the phone from me and hooked it up to the fancy projector Pierre had also installed. The picture flashed up nice and large onto the screen. The man no longer looked Middle Eastern but Slavic.
“I can see Chernobog in him now,” Olga said finally, after studying the image for a good couple of minutes. “Frankly, more than I would expect.”
“Human genetics are dominant for external.”
“I’m not sure if I see any familial resemblance to the rest of us though,” White said.
“Well, whoever his father is, that’s Russell Kozlow,” Tim said, as he handed his phone to Stryker. A new picture went up onto the screen, next to the one Christopher had created. They were clearly the same person. “Got that from Leah, and, here’s the fun news that’s not going to surprise anyone—Kozlow somehow broke out of Mossad’s most secure prison two days ago. His escape was helped by, wait for it, a huge sandstorm.”
“Well, it’s just one big reunion of Ronnie’s Kids, isn’t it?”
“Let’s make it bigger,” White said. He stepped aside and made a quick call.
“There’s no real similarity in body structures,” Stryker said. “I mean, if we go by the people in this room who all have the Yates gene in them, I don’t see consistency, and none of you look like Kozlow.”
Jeff motioned to the others and he, Christopher, and Serene all went and stood by the screen. White finished his call and joined them. As he did so, Gladys and Jeff’s mother, Lucinda, came in the room. They said their hellos as they joined the others in our own special lineup.
“It’s likely to be the eyes. Christopher has his dad’s eyes, nose, and mouth.” He did, though his eye color—green flecked with blue—was like his late mother’s. “Look at everyone else’s eyes, do they all have a similar shape?”
“Somewhat. I see similarities in the mouths, too,” Chuckie agreed. “But not from Martini.”
“Jeff favors his father.” At least in looks and most of his personality. I’d discovered his jealous streak came from Lucinda, though.
There was general agreement that Jeff had a similar body structure to White’s but otherwise he was a clear Royal Family Descendant versus a Yates Looker. Worked for me. Jeff left the lineup.
“Christopher and Serene have Richard’s nose,” Melanie said. “And I think Kozlow does, too. But I don’t know if that’s enough to go on.”
“Kozlow’s mouth is like Gladys and Lucinda’s,” Emily added. “Without a genetic sample to compare to, I think that’s the best we’re going to get right now. But we’ve rolled with less.”
“Every operation Kitty’s in charge of,” Christopher muttered.
Chose to ignore him. “So, why was Kozlow attacking YatesCorp? If there’s a clause for the proof of the Yates Gene, why not just show up, have the blood test, and take your Seat of Power?”
“The gene’s harder to identify and even harder to confirm,” Tito said. “Possibly because of his combining with the Mephistopheles superbeing, Yates’ DNA appears to have been altered. My research is still inconclusive, but if I had to postulate a theory, it would be that without enough of a known genetic sample to compare to, no one would be able to say they were Ronald Yates’ relatives.”
And suddenly everything that was going on made sense.
CHAPTER 55
I OPENED MY MOUTH and then shut it again. I wanted to share what I’d figured out, but I realized I couldn’t. Because Gladys was in the room, and we pretty much had proof that, with the slightest effort on Ronaldo’s part, she was likely to tell the bad guys everything they wanted to know. For all I knew she was reading me right now and would be relaying what I was thinking to our enemies shortly.
Could tell Jeff, Chuckie, Buchanan, and Tim all noted me gaping like a fish. Thankfully none of them asked what was going on.
“Let’s get back to the most pressing issue,” Jeff said smoothly, presumably because he had for sure read my mind and/or emotions. “We need to determine what we’re going to do about the funeral the President’s requesting.”
“You know,” Chuckie said, “I don’t think any humans have a right to add in on this one—this is a very personal discussion that all of you need to agree upon. I need to contact Vander and Cliff anyway, so Kitty, Buchanan, why don’t you two come with me and we’ll leave your husband to manage whatever the official American Centaurion decision is for Michael’s funeral.”
“Reynolds, you okay if the other humans come along?” Tim asked. “Your discussion undoubtedly affects Alpha Team.”
“Sure. Martini, can we use your office?”
“Sure, Chuck, go ahead.”
I was impressed. Gave Jeff a quick kiss. “You rock,” I said softly. Nodded to Len and Kyle who wheeled Olga out behind Chuckie. The rest of the humans trailed out behind us.
“We could also have this meeting at our embassy,” Olga said as we waited for the elevator. “Or over at your Zoo facility.”
Assumed Olga had made the same leaps I had and that she wasn’t sure of Gladys’ range. Neither was I. Gladys ran the entire Science Center, after all.
“I think the Zoo might be best,” Buchanan said. Considered the distances. Yep, the Zoo was farther away than the Romanian Embassy, hence the most likely reason why Buchanan was voting that way. “We’re on the right floor to just walk over anyway.”
As he said this the elevator opened and Lorraine and Claudia stepped out. “Awesome, you two are here. Come with us. But first, Tito, please go with the girls and get your laptop. Don’t pass go, don’t check in on the conference room, just grab your laptop and any backups you have, and bring them and Nurse Carter back with you.”
To everyone’s credit, no one asked why, though Stryker really looked like he wanted to. The girls just shrugged and stepped back into the elevator, Tito joining them. Assumed at least half of those with me had connected the same dots I had, and I was pretty sure everyone was clear that whatever we were going to talk about needed to be done in a secure location.
“You want the rest of the guys meeting us?” Stryker asked.
“Yeah, that’s a good idea. Have them meet us on the second floor.”
While S
tryker sent a text, Kevin and Irving exchanged a glance. “You want Pierre, too, Kitty?” Irving asked.
“Not yet.” Mostly because I had to figure that Pierre would be the one human the A-Cs would expect to be instantly available if they needed something, and I didn’t want to arouse more suspicion than we might have already.
“Do you want Denise to weigh in on any of this?” Kevin asked. “She might have a different perspective.”
Denise liked Gladys a lot, and knew her far better than I did, and I knew Kevin knew this. However, some things took precedence, Jamie being Number One. “No, but only because she’s on kidlet duty, and that goes the same for Brian.”
The girls and Tito returned, Nurse Carter in tow. “Let’s move,” Chuckie said.
“While we go,” Buchanan said as we all headed for the bridge that connected the Embassy to the Zoo building down the block, “yesterday’s events caused this to move down in importance, but we still need to get Field teams into every embassy in your neighborhood, as well as into the residences of any openly pro-alien politicians.”
Was about to ask if he was sure this was necessary when we reached the bridge. It was made of steel and reinforced bulletproof glass, so we could see outside while walking across and stay safe at the same time. Which was currently a very good thing, because there was quite a crowd in our street.
“What’s going on?” Claudia asked.
“That wasn’t there when we got Olga,” Len said.
“Looks like a protest,” Tim said, squinting. “And, if I’m reading that right, they’re protesting . . . us.”
A-Cs had better vision than humans, so Lorraine, Claudia, and I all looked more closely. Sure enough, there were signs saying things like “Alien Go Home,” “Aliens are NOT Americans,” “If You Weren’t Born Here, Leave,” “One Dead Alien is a Good Start,” and other pleasant things. Many of the signs were familiar from yesterday morning.
There were also people passing out pamphlets, and a table with what looked like a petition or two being signed was set up in front of the Irish Embassy. “Looks like Club Fifty-One is out in force.”