Alien in Chief

by Gini Koch

  Dug my Glock out of my purse and as I did my hand hit the case I carried that contained the adrenaline I periodically needed to slam into Jeff’s hearts. Had a pang of worry—what if Jeff got sick or overstressed while I was gone? Sure, Dr. Morin was there, but he might die before he could administer the adrenaline. And could we trust anything there anyway?

  “What is it?” White asked.

  “I just . . .” I pulled out the adrenaline case. “I’ve got this and Jeff doesn’t.”

  “He’ll be fine, girlfriend,” Reader said gently. “You need to focus on kicking butt.”

  “And administering that to me should I die from first the anticipation of life-threatening activity and then the boredom of us not actually doing anything,” Tim added.

  “Tim, I love you.” Dumped the adrenaline back into my purse and called Mom.

  “What’s your status?” she asked without so much as a hello. Knew where I got it from. She didn’t sound as good as when we’d left, though.

  “Get all the adrenaline you can—have Serene send it to you from Dulce because I think anything in the White House is suspect by now.”

  “And you want me to do this why?”

  “Because it occurred to me that adrenaline both starts hearts and opens lungs. And more people than Jeff can use it.”

  “You think it will keep those near death alive. It’s possible, though I’d prefer to ask a doctor about it. But for how long?”

  “Hopefully long enough, and ask Doctor Morin, who might be very willing to be a test case. Or call Tito, who may have already thought of it and be administering doses as we speak. As it is, most of us are feeling a lot better than I’d have expected.” Decided not to tell Mom that my hyperspeed was leaving me. Why make her worry more?

  “Yes. As to that . . .”

  “What? Is someone dead?”

  “No. But I’ve spoken to your father. You need to hurry, kitten. With whatever you’re doing.”

  “Why?”

  “Because your father thinks that Jamie is . . . doing something to keep us all . . . protected.”

  “Huh. Does Dad know what?”

  “No, only that the Poofs and other animals won’t let him into the room she’s in. They did, however, let Patrick in. And then, shortly after, the rest of the Embassy hybrid children. Lizzie, Raymond, and Rachel are the only Embassy children not in the room. They’re with your father, feeling quite left out.”

  “Oh, fantastic.” Jamie had used her powers to protect us before. As had ACE. What they could do together, especially with Patrick and the other hybrids adding in, was potentially limitless. But it was also draining, of that I was sure. And while they were powerful, they were still little children. “Is Charlie in with her?”

  “No, apparently baby brothers are not allowed in this particular club.”

  “Good, I hope.”

  Whatever they were doing had another negative in addition to the kids overstraining themselves dangerously—it would undoubtedly be noticed on the Superconsciousness Radar. And that would be bad for ACE, Algar, and the rest of us. If any of us were alive to worry about it, of course.

  “What? Oh, Vance and Stryker both are insisting that I say hi to you for them. God alone knows why. They’ve joined us because Jeff and Cliff are having a shouting match with each other.”

  “Really? About what?”

  “Cliff creating panic in the streets without Jeff’s approval. Which started because Cliff used Jeff’s suggestion that everyone have blood drawn to help determine who is and isn’t sick as his excuse to declare a total epidemic.”

  “Huh. I think Jeff needs people down there watching his back.”

  “Which is why I sent Len and Kyle down. On the plus side, Lizzie has apparently found something on your roof. Your father appears to be in his element.”

  “Did he say if it was her father’s notes?”

  “No, just that he had to get back to it, is working on it with Lizzie, and I should encourage you to speed up whatever you’re doing when next we spoke.”

  “Wow. Dad’s either got understatement down to an art form or he’s really unclear on what’s going on.”

  “I’m voting for the latter, since he said he’d turned off the news because it was upsetting everyone.”

  “Fantastic. How are things in the Sick Suite?”

  “Boring, but the kind of boredom you have when you’re wondering how long you’re going to live.” Mom’s sarcasm knob went well past eleven.

  “Got it, I just thought I’d share my potentially life-extending brainstorm with you in order to ensure everyone’s lives get extended.”

  “Duly noted, kitten. I’ll call Serene.”

  “Please text Lorraine and Claudia, too. Text not call, just in case. They may need the adrenaline idea for their assignment.”

  “Do I want to know?”

  “Probably not.”

  “So, business as usual.”

  “Yep. Love you, Mom.”

  “Love you, too, but stop saying ‘goodbye’ to everyone and get moving. And that’s an order.”

  We hung up. “Jeez, you’d think people would appreciate being told that they’re loved.”

  “I live for it,” Tim said. “So, are we, you know, going to raid this beast now or are we going to make more phone calls? Just curious.”

  “Raid,” White said. “While you were chatting I did an interior search.”

  “Did not even notice that you were gone, Mister White, you silver fox, you.”

  “I live for the flattery, Missus Martini, so thank you. Skills are still in top form, too, so we can rest easy for the moment.”

  “What did you find?” Reader asked.

  “There are far more than just a few Cuban assassins in the metal recycling building—at least I assume the gentlemen who look like they’re from all over Cuba and are also armed even more heavily than we now are happen to be assassins as opposed to night watchmen. There were rooms I couldn’t access, however. Naturally fortified and hard to reach due to the number of armed men around them.”

  “Naturally.” Made sure I had a clip in my Glock and that the safety was off. Totally unsurprisingly, the safety hadn’t been on and the gun was loaded. Go me, Gun Handler of the Year.

  “Going in guns blazing, blow the building up, or stealth?” Tim asked.

  “I have to figure that this is someone’s legitimate business and not every business like this is Mob-owned, plus we have hostages we’re trying to save, so I think stealth is the right answer.”

  Contemplated my options and decided to keep doing what worked for me, whether Algar was paying attention or not. Put my earbuds in, slid my phone into my back pocket, and hit play, keeping the sound low so it wouldn’t carry to our enemies.

  The Killers’ “Battle Born” came onto the airwaves. Check. Algar was on the case and reminding me that, powers or not, I’d had what it took before and still did.

  “Shoot to kill unless we know who they are,” I said. “Mister White, are you comfortable taking point?”

  “I am indeed, Missus Martini.”

  “Great, you first, me, then James, and Tim, you bring up the rear. Let’s lock and load.”

  CHAPTER 80

  WE LINKED UP to make it inside at hyperspeed without being seen or anyone noticing the door opening and closing.

  White zipped us through the facility as well, so we could see what he’d already told us—there were a lot of guys with guns, knives, and hand grenades, and no sign of the three dudes we were looking for. They were definitely speaking Spanish to each other, too.

  In Bizarro World, Cliff had had strong ties to the Cuban Mob. Presumed he did in this world as well. Meaning we had at least one Cuban hit squad here. Maybe three of them, considering the numbers. We were definitely in solid double digits.

&nb
sp; The interior was exactly what I’d expected a scrap metal company’s insides to look like. A big rectangle with absolutely no frills, filled with lots of big pots for melting metal, many iron catwalks and such, lots of machinery, ropes and pulleys, and things I couldn’t easily identify. It was like being in the final fight scene of the first Terminator movie. Tried not to worry, but only Sarah Connor had made it out of that place alive.

  On the plus side, it was night and the place wasn’t well lit. Presumably so the bad guys could remain in shadow and see us coming and all that.

  There were a couple of rooms that were closed and, as he’d said, White hadn’t felt it wise to verify if the door was locked due to the number of dudes with guns around them. Meaning they were the likely place or places where our hostages were being held.

  Who I didn’t see, however, were the two Cuban assassins I’d expected, Sanchez and Lopez. Was sure they were here somewhere, or at least involved, but if they were, they were inside one of the two rooms or they were supervising from somewhere else.

  We went into stealth mode once White got us behind a particularly large bin of scrap that was near a back wall where, amazingly enough, there was no catwalk overhead. Put the hood of my jacket on to hide my hair while ignoring the silent snickers I got from Reader and Tim.

  Gave the guys hand signals to indicate that we should split up and see if we could each get into one of the well-guarded rooms. This only took about ten tries, but I was somewhat confident that, after a lot of exasperated expressions and hand motions, they knew what I wanted to do.

  My hyperspeed might be running down, but I was confident that the regeneration wasn’t, since I still only felt slightly feverish, so I took point with Tim behind me and Reader went after White. We edged out of either side of the bin.

  Tim and I headed for the room that was on what would have been the second story if this building had bothered to put in a real floor between the ground and the roof. They hadn’t—that was part of what the catwalks were there for.

  I’d headed us here because it had the least amount of guards in the area. Even so, neither Tim nor I were gigantic people, and while not all of the Cubans were big, they all looked dangerous and we only needed one to sound an alarm.

  We were under the room, and also under the catwalk and stairs that allowed someone to get to the room, when the door opened.

  “We’ll let you sit here a while longer,” a woman said. “Eventually you’ll get tired of trying to protect people who couldn’t care less about you and would arrest you if they had half a chance.”

  Tim and I looked at each other. It was a familiar voice—Annette Dier was in the house.

  Which, as I thought about it, made total sense. Raul had been out of Cuba, she’d been his woman, so that would mean she had Cuban ties, too, even if she wasn’t Cuban originally. The Crazy Eights, like the rest of the Assassination Squads, had figured we’d end up here, in Orlando.

  Meaning Adriana was somewhere around. Wished I’d figured that out before we’d gone in, but oh well. Our team was nothing if not resourceful, especially when we screwed up.

  Resisted the urge to shoot Dier. Mostly because it would draw immediate attention and I couldn’t be sure I’d hit her through the catwalk’s grating. And a bullet ricocheting would naturally hit me or Tim or one of the others. Or all of us. Because we were just lucky that way.

  Dier wasn’t alone. As she walked away from us on the catwalk, seven pairs of feet followed her. So they weren’t leaving anyone in there with our hostages. Or there were ten guys with guns in there. Gave it far better odds for the latter.

  The other room, the one White and Reader were heading for, was on the ground. It looked like Dier and the rest of the Crazy Eights were heading there, too. Happily, it was far enough away—on the other side of the building—and we were in enough shadow that they were unlikely to spot us.

  Was about to go when my music changed to “Shoot Speed/Kill Light” by Primal Scream. There were a lot of ways I could take this cue, but I figured that Algar was telling me to kill the lights and shoot adrenaline.

  Opened my purse and pulled the adrenaline case out of my purse. Tim’s eyes opened wide.

  Took off my hoodie—no reason to stretch out the sleeves of a piece of Aerosmith clothing. On rare occasions I’d been able to give Jeff the adrenaline somewhere other than in his hearts. Upper arm was the best—least pain, less loss of mobility.

  Took out a needle and handed it to Tim. He did the “me too?” sign. I felt his head. He felt a lot hotter than he had before, and he looked crappy. Nodded, but indicated I was first, just in case. He nodded, then gave me the shot.

  Results were instantaneous. I felt as if something was flowing through my veins, something that made me feel faster, stronger, and infinitely better. Got the next needle out as Tim rolled up his sleeve. Had to give it to him in his forearm, just due to how he was dressed.

  Could tell the adrenaline hit him the same way, because he stopped looking sick. Truly doubted this was the real cure, but as a standby, I’d take it. I had eight more hypodermics left, so if we needed to jump-start anyone, we were set. I sincerely hoped.

  Put my hoodie back on and put the hood on again, too. Handed Tim one of the spent needles and kept the other one with me. We didn’t have a lot of silent weapons with us, but these would work really well. Had a feeling Team Assassination would approve, too.

  Looked around and realized that we were by the power box. So we wouldn’t have to shoot out the lights, and instead could just turn them off, which was a lot stealthier. The win column was filling up.

  Waited until Dier and the others were going down, then flipped the main switch. The lights all went out, right on cue, and Tim and I started up the stairs that led up to the room above us. We were both shaking but it didn’t matter because we were going so fast. I still had to hold onto him for him to go at hyperspeed, but we were upstairs in a split second.

  Couldn’t tell if it was the adrenaline or not, but my eyes adjusted quickly to the darkness. We had that full moon out tonight and this place had windows up high, so while it was dark, it certainly wasn’t pitch black.

  As we reached the door, I let go of Tim and we each took two of the four guards there. Breaking their necks was easy, as was laying them down onto the ground so that their bodies didn’t make noise when they dropped. Heard plenty of other voices—people were shouting to get the lights back on, among other things.

  The door wasn’t locked, which was nice, but right now I could have ripped it off its hinges if I’d had to. However, that would have let everyone outside know where we were, let alone those in the room.

  Got to see that I’d been wrong—there weren’t ten guys in here. There were a dozen, all armed to the teeth. Happily, twelve guys still unaware that we were here. Shut the door behind Tim—we were inside in less time than it took someone to blink.

  There was only one person not armed in here—Siler. He was stripped to the waist, tied to a metal chair that sat next to a small table that had a candle burning on it. It also had wax and a few other nasty things, which lined up since Siler showed signs of torture. Which pissed me off, which was good, because I flipped from adrenaline-fueled to adrenaline-fueled and enraged, which was, all things considered, better. At least for what we needed to do.

  My music changed, clearly in honor of this being me and Tim fighting together—The Beastie Boys came on, sharing that, once again, “(You Gotta) Fight For Your Right (To Party).” Message received.

  Tim and I were a speedy wrecking machine. I knocked them down with an impressive arm bar to their throats, he knocked them out once they were on the ground. Then I knocked them out again, only a lot harder. A few of them might live, but I wasn’t overly concerned.

  We had everyone knocked out in about ten seconds and all of them down and out for good or for a good long time in less than a minute. Hyper
speed, as always, rocked.

  Got over to Siler. He didn’t look great. Had to figure they’d infected him, and he also looked even more worked over close up than he had when we got into the room.

  Didn’t have a lot of time to think about it. Looked at Siler as if he was Jeff. And I knew what to do when Jeff was at death’s door.

  Dropped my Glock into my purse, pulled out another adrenaline harpoon and, as Tim held Siler’s head and torso steady, slammed it into his hearts.

  Unlike Jeff, he didn’t bellow. Like Jeff, he thrashed. Enough to break his bonds, which were leather straps.

  Watched his body repair itself in front of us. “Maybe I should have named you Wolverine, not Nightcrawler.”

  He gave me a weak grin. “Nah, I’m used to Nightcrawler. It’s really good to see you.”

  “You, too. Are you aware of what’s going on?”

  “Did you figure out what I was trying to tell you?”

  “That Lizzie’s dead father’s notes were hidden on my roof of all places? Yes.”

  “Then yeah, I’m aware of what’s going on.”

  “Good fail-safe.”

  “Yeah. Hope she doesn’t hate me for doing it.” He looked worried.

  “No, I think she understands. She’s a smart little cookie. And she’s safe in the Embassy, which is on lockdown and has no one infected that we know of.”

  “She is. And . . . thank you.”

  “You’re welcome. How did they infect you, by touch?”

  “No, they injected me with the disease.”

  Tim went and collected the weapons that were on the dead or unconscious guys in the room. “There’s a lot more than we can carry. Even if Richard and James were up here with us.”

  “Adriana’s here, by the way.”

  Tim nodded. “Yeah, I figured that out when I saw the Crazy Eights. No idea where she is, though.”

  “Haven’t seen her,” Siler said as he selected what he wanted, then took the rounds out of the guns at hyperspeed. The knives he held onto. All of the knives. “However, I don’t think she’s captured. I’m sure they’d have tried to use her to make us talk.”