by Gini Koch
“Maybe.”
We were in sight of Mission Control. “Let’s get assembled and figure out what we’re doing, as a group.”
“Yes, Commander Katt.” He grinned at me. “I love it when you give orders.”
“Mmmm, same here.” I wasn’t disappointed to go to a hotel. I wanted to have Martini give me a lot of orders, for hours on end.
He chuckled. “I love how you think. Lust,” he added with another grin. “Yours is clear and has a lot of different levels. I like all of them.”
Alfred caught up to us. “Okay, I’ve made arrangements. There’s a secured hotel between Kennedy and our house. You’re all booked there. However, dinner will be with us.”
“Why?” Martini asked. “So Mom can harangue me?”
“That’s fine,” I said quickly. “How soon can we eat?”
Alfred looked relieved. “Soon. Everything’s ready, just waiting for all of us to arrive.”
Claudia and Lorraine had spotted us and came over. “What’s the plan?” Lorraine asked. “We’re all exhausted and hungry.”
“Our house for dinner,” Alfred replied. “Lucinda’s made meat loaf.”
Both girls squealed. “Oh, that’s so great!” Claudia said. “I’ll get everyone rounded up!” She ran off.
“It’s that good?” I asked Lorraine.
“Better than that good.” Lorraine sighed. “One day, she might pass on the recipe, too.”
“Not too likely,” Alfred chuckled.
“No loss,” Martini muttered.
“I want to have Daniel and his wife under protection,” I told Lorraine, to avoid getting into the meat loaf argument I was sure we were going to end up having no matter what.
She nodded. “James said you would. They have kids, so Kevin assigned a couple of P.T.C.U. operatives to go with them, and Christopher called in a team of A-Cs from East Base. They’re all headed home already.”
“Great. Are we ready to go, then?”
“Yes, we are,” Kevin came up behind Lorraine. “All under control. I want to get Alpha Team out of here,” he added. “We searched all personnel for Club 51 cards. Only a couple of non-Security humans had the cards. They’ve been detained.”
“What about my stalker’s assistant?”
“Also detained. Held pending full investigation.”
“Can any of these people get out on bail?”
Kevin gave me a smile that looked remarkably like my mother’s most intimidating one. She must have trained her whole team to do it. It was still massively impressive, made more so by Kevin having such great teeth. “Suspected terrorists don’t get bail. Suspected terrorists who tried to kill the daughter of the head of the P.T.C.U. and destroy Centaurion Division don’t get anything but a nice trip to a very nasty place.”
“No Geneva Convention?”
“Who’s Geneva?” he asked with a wicked grin.
“Fair enough.” It was amazing how my perspectives had changed in less than six months. Scary things and people constantly trying to kill me and the people I loved the most on a regular basis did that to a girl. “Where are the alligators?”
“Your pets are being taken back to the swamp by Animal Control.” Kevin laughed. “You should have seen the looks on Turco and Taft’s faces when those came in. The first one was bad enough, but then when the giant one arrived . . . man, it was great.”
“Sorry I missed it.” Very sorry. I was still a little out of breath.
“So, can we use a gate to get out of here, or are we still trying to impress people who want us dead that we’re just regular folks?” Martini’s voice dripped sarcasm.
“Gate,” Kevin replied. “I’m with you—the hell with playing nicely with others. I think this whole brouhaha about Centaurion’s long-term purpose was started to get your key personnel into precarious positions. I represent Angela here; she outranks the rest, and I’m saying we’re going into our own version of lockdown.”
“I like how you think,” Martini said with a grin.
“Start of a beautiful friendship and all that,” Kevin said with a laugh. “Now, let’s get going. I heard something about the best meat loaf in the known universe being served somewhere.”
CHAPTER 47
OF COURSE, we couldn’t race off as fast as anyone wanted. We had to secure the jet, gather our belongings that were now scattered all over the Space Center, assign some teams to figure out how badly Kennedy’s Security had been infiltrated, assign a different team to get said Security back up and running, handle a couple of other issues, and make sure someone dealt with the body of the cleaning woman. One thing was missing, though, and it was troubling.
“Why can’t anyone find Karl Smith’s body?” I asked Martini and Kevin as we finally headed to a gate.
“Does it matter?” Kevin asked. “I mean, to what’s going on?”
I thought about it. “I don’t know. It’s just . . . he was right. He knew Centaurion was in danger. He knew we were in danger. He told me not to trust anyone and not to let any of my team go anywhere alone.” He’d died trying to protect Centaurion Division personnel, and that made it important to know what had happened his body. Memory tickled. “I slipped and he caught on that I was human. He stressed to me that people weren’t good.” I looked up at Martini. “He must have tried to warn the A-Cs, and they wouldn’t believe him.”
“Dad, did Karl Smith try to warn you about anything?” Martini called to Alfred, who was ahead of us, ushering personnel through the gates. There were two, and one was marked “Secured Parking.” The humans and most of the A-Cs were going through this one. All the people I knew were going through the other.
Alfred gave it some thought. “No, not that I can recall.”
“Do all the human personnel know they’re working with aliens?”
“All the ones in our division, yes,” Alfred answered. “You’ve only seen a portion of Kennedy and only some of the personnel.”
“How do you keep them from telling everyone?”
He shrugged. “There are ways.”
“Mind control ways?”
“Sometimes. Usually not. We screen everyone carefully before they move over to any job involving Centaurion personnel.”
I managed not to mention that they didn’t screen so carefully that Club 51 hadn’t infiltrated, more than one person had been murdered, and a stalker had gotten her own little gang going. Plenty of time for that tomorrow.
“High security clearances, like for all forms of military intelligence,” Kevin added.
Couldn’t help myself. “Then how did Turco and Taft get on board?”
“Leventhal Reid,” Reader said, without missing a beat. “Trust me, all the strings are going to lead back to him.”
I didn’t argue. Between the two of us, Reader and I had rarely proved to be wrong. And I’d seen Reid’s picture—he looked like someone I’d want to stay far away from.
Alfred nodded. “Turco had all the right clearances. All the security measures for this area are his.”
“Well, that explains how security was so easily disrupted. He set it up.” The thought that this had to have taken some serious long-term planning occurred to me. I didn’t know Turco or Taft at all, but neither one of them had struck me as having the ability to plan something this devious. Which meant, unsurprisingly, that they were probably following orders. I didn’t have to think long or hard about whose.
“Let’s deal with it after dinner,” Martini said. “I want some food. I’m actually hungry enough to eat the meat loaf.”
“It’s your mother’s specialty,” Alfred chided.
“And I’ve never liked it. I hate meat loaf. Not just hers, anybody’s.”
“You’d like Kitty’s if she made it for you,” Alfred suggested.
Christopher was at the gate and Reader was still next to us. It was a toss-up between which one of them was laughing harder. “I’d pay money to see Kitty’s meat loaf,” Christopher managed to get out between snorts of laughte
r.
“As long as I wouldn’t have to eat it,” Reader added. Alfred looked shocked. “Boys, that’s very rude.”
“I don’t really cook. I can, I just don’t like to. I live at the Science Center—we have the greatest commissary on the planet. I’m good with it.”
“But, sometimes, a man wants a home-cooked meal,” Alfred protested.
“My man can cook. Better than me, I might add.”
“You cook?” Alfred asked Martini, clearly shocked.
“I can dress myself, too. And sometimes I can handle all Field operations for the entire Centaurion Division. Amazing, isn’t it?”
“We also both like going to restaurants on those rare occasions when we can. I’ll wager we could gate it over to East Base and find a restaurant in New York open and ready to serve. If you catch my drift. I’m ready to eat people, including people I know and like. Food, now, please. Or else I’m going to go ballistic.”
“Leaving now,” Christopher said, as he stepped through the gate.
“Everyone else ahead of me,” Martini said, as Alfred appeared to be waiting for us to go first. Kevin and then Reader stepped through.
“My facility,” Alfred said.
“My responsibility,” Martini replied. They looked ready to stare each other down for dominance for, potentially, hours.
“My stomach is growling.”
Alfred gave in first. “Fine. Can’t keep our heroine waiting.” He gave me a fond smile, but I could see worry in his eyes. “Don’t dawdle.” Everyone always told me and Martini not to waste time when we were at a gate. We’d only made out once in this kind of situation. Well, maybe twice. Okay, maybe a lot. But it had never been an issue.
“No worries. Food is supposedly waiting for us.”
“Indeed.” Alfred stepped through.
Martini did a couple of calibrations. “What’re you doing?”
“Setting it up so I can carry you through.” He looked at me. “Unless you want to step through alone.”
“Never do,” I said cheerfully. “Take your time.”
He reached out with his free hand and stroked the back of my neck. “I wish.”
“Jeff, it’ll be okay. I’ll do my best not to screw things up with your mother.”
“Baby, there’s nothing you can do. It’s not you, it’s them and me.”
“Your father loves you, I can tell. He’s just like you, and he likes to tease. Just like you do. You tease me all the time.”
“But I mean it with love.”
“So does he.”
“Maybe.”
“And your mother probably doesn’t think anyone’s good enough for her baby boy.”
Martini snorted. “Right.”
“I’ve dated a lot more guys than you have. It’s pretty common. Most mothers don’t think any girl’s good enough for their son. Just the way most fathers don’t like any guy who’s interested in their daughter. Like, you know, my dad.”
“Your dad came around.”
“See? Your parents probably will, too.”
“My father likes you. I can tell.”
“I like him, too. I’ll probably like your mother, and I’ll bet she’ll like me, too. You know, once we get to know each other.”
“Anything’s possible. Unlikely, but possible.” He finished the calibrations and then swept me up into his arms. He shifted me to his hip and I wrapped my legs around him. Martini grabbed both our rolling bags in one hand, kissed me, and then we stepped through.
I leaned against his shoulder and kept my eyes closed. I hated going through gates even more than hyperspeed, and the farther away my face was from the safety of Martini’s neck, the worse the experience. I discovered it was much worse when I was in starvation mode—the nausea was intense.
But, as always, it didn’t take too long. We were through, and I looked around. Large room, not overly furnished. Christopher was the only person there. “Where are we?”
“Basement of my parent’s house.” Martini put me down, and I took my bag from him. “Welcome to hell.”
“It’s worse,” Christopher said. “All your sisters are here, and their husbands, and their kids.”
“Oh, God.” Martini sounded ready to die.
“And,” Christopher added, “they’re all upset with us for being so late.”
“Are you kidding me? How did they expect us to get here on time, whatever that was? We were busy. What time is it, anyway?”
“Around eight,” Christopher sighed. “The family usually eats at six.”
“I suppose eating without us and doing the family dinner, say, tomorrow wasn’t an option?”
“It never is,” Martini said, in a voice of doom. “Seriously, if we break up after this, I’m prepared. Sort of.”
“Jeff, I’m not breaking up with you over your family’s oddities.”
“She says that now.” Christopher sighed. “Kitty, just trust us—it’s going to be grueling, and they’re going to piss you off.”
“Oh, good.” My stomach growled. Loudly enough to be heard.
“Food, first,” Martini said briskly. “Torture for dessert.”
He took my hand, and we headed upstairs, but not at hyperspeed, more as if we were heading to the gallows. Neither one of them wanted to join everyone else. I thought about what Christopher had said. “How many people are upstairs?”
“An unreal number. Something like forty, maybe more. I lost count.” Christopher sounded serious. Martini just groaned.
“Jeff, do you have blocks up?”
“Not as many as I’ll need.”
I shot a worried look at Christopher. He gave me a weak smile in return. “You have Jeff’s adrenaline, right? And Claudia and Lorraine have medical kits. We’ll be okay.” His voice said he was a terrible liar, but I knew that already.
“How are you both feeling, physically?”
“Okay,” Christopher said.
“I’ll live.” Martini sighed. “I may not want to, though.”
We crested the stairs, and I was greeted by the sight of . . . not too much. Long hallway, basically. We walked down it; I kept hearing a dirge in my mind. Rounded a corner and finally saw what looked like a room. A huge room, as we got into it. “What room is this?”
“Entryway. Both the gate room and the front door lead here.”
“Um, how big is your family’s place?”
“About twelve thousand square feet,” Martini said, as if this was no big deal.
“Come again?”
“Twelve thousand square feet, give or take,” Christopher confirmed.
“So, your family lives in a mansion?” We could pretty much put five of my parents’ houses inside Martini’s one. For some reason, this made me feel a little uncomfortable.
“There were six of us kids, seven when Christopher was here,” Martini said, again, as if this were no biggie.
“Your dad said there was a guesthouse.”
“Out on the grounds, yeah. It’s smaller, though.” The grounds. He said it as though, again, it was no big deal.
“Your family’s loaded.”
“I guess.” He looked down at me. “Does it matter?”
“No.” I hoped not. I had a horrible, sinking feeling in my stomach, though. But maybe A-Cs didn’t go in for class and money prejudices, just as they ignored skin color and sexual preferences as issues. Then again, Martini’s mother didn’t approve of me—maybe she knew I didn’t have a clear idea of which fork to use, ever.
The rest of our team’s luggage was here, so we dropped ours off and kept on going.
I could hear children now, shrieks and cries and so forth. We finished the trek through the entry room and got into what I assumed was the family room. Either that, or it was where they performed Shakespeare. Huge, but very filled with people, most of whom were male or under the age of twelve. I saw the majority of our team in here.
A voice screamed, at the top of its lungs. “Uncle Jeff!”
CHAPTER 48
/>
I COULDN’T DETERMINE THE AGE or gender of the child who’d spotted Martini initially, but it hardly mattered. We were dog piled in moments.
Or he was. Christopher managed to drag me aside just in time. Martini was being overrun by children—they were climbing on him, hugging him, clamoring for his attention. And he was delivering. Children were being tossed and caught, flipped around, put onto his back, swung through his legs, hugged, kissed, and generally loved on.
I couldn’t count heads, they were moving around too much, but there were well over a dozen children, from little ones just walking to teenagers a tad too old to be mauling their uncle. But it wasn’t stopping them, they were in line for attention, too.
I heard another shriek. “Uncle Christopher’s here, too!” I knew enough by now to leap out of the way. Christopher was grabbed by two of the older kids and dragged into the family pile. I risked a quick look around. Gower looked as though this was a normal occurrence, and so did Reader. There were some men I didn’t recognize—all drop-dead gorgeous, so I assumed these were Jeff’s brothers-in-law. Most of them were talking to Gower.
One of the older teenagers extracted herself from the riot and came over to me. She gave me a very obvious once over. “Are you Uncle Jeff’s girlfriend?”
I saw no reason to deny it. “Yes.”
She nodded. “You know you can’t marry him.”
Oh, my God. Martini hadn’t been kidding. “Well, that’s sort of up to your Uncle Jeff and me.”
She shook her head. “No, it isn’t. Great-Uncle Richard says you can’t, so you can’t. My mother says so.”
“What’s your name? And how old are you?”
“I’m Stephanie, and I’m fifteen.”
“I’m Kitty, and I’m twenty-seven.” I leaned close to her. “You know what my mother says?” She shook her head.
“My mother says I can do anything I damn well please. And, trust me, my mother can take your mother.” My mother could take anyone.
“Whoa, Kitty, come and meet the guys!” Reader grabbed my hand and dragged me away from Stephanie. No matter, she was headed off, presumably to where the women were, to report back. I was doomed.