by Gini Koch
“No, they’re not. I can tell, baby, but it’s always considered polite to ask.”
Snorted a laugh. “Yes, we’ve built our relationship on politeness and protocol.”
He chuckled. “Point taken. Your two new additions seem helpful and I’ve read them both. No overlays or blockers.”
“Good. And?”
“And Adam’s thrilled and honored to be here, deeply confused and worried about what’s going on, and ready to join the team protecting you. Cologne isn’t awed at all, but he’s pleased that he helped out, and he’s deeply worried about what’s going on with the new robotic whatever you discovered. I really want to get your intel, though, baby. And we want to question the new robotic you’ve found, too, though I’m quite clear that you’ve said we have to wait for you.”
“Pardon me. That kind of questioning is in my wheelhouse, and you know it. Are you having this call in the Large Situation Room, by the way?”
“Nope. I went to the Executive Washroom. Because it’s about the only place I can get any form of privacy. If I consider having Joseph and Rob in here with me to be private.”
“Say hi to them for me.”
“Oh, I will do.” Jeff’s sarcasm knob was heading for eight on the scale. “I’d tell you to blow Somerall and Lee off because we have bigger issues, but I’ve paid attention, and I’m figuring that this is their crazed opening gambit that they’re doing in person for some reason, versus on the phone.”
“We are so in sync sometimes it’s almost scary. Yeah, that’s exactly what I think this is. But, you know, who knows? Maybe they’re just here to try to wrest Lizzie away from us.”
At this Siler’s expression went dark. Jeff growled. “Tell Siler I’m with him and that if they so much as look at Lizzie wrong he has Executive Permission to kill them both.”
“Ah, I really don’t think Mom wants us doing that. Not that I disagree with the sentiment or anything, but, trust me, we have more going on than Walter may have mentioned.”
“He said something about the Bahrainis coming by.”
Interesting. Then again, Walter only knew I’d expected whoever was coming to be Mona and her entourage, they were on Buchanan’s Short Approval List, and he didn’t know about Wasim, so he wouldn’t have said more to Jeff or anyone else. And other stresses had outweighed Wasim’s imminent arrival for me, meaning Jeff probably hadn’t noticed that particular stress spike. Ergo, decided not to share the full details with Jeff just yet. Might as well surprise him as we’d already been surprised. It would be more fun that way.
“Yeah, Mona’s on her way over.”
“At least you’ll get to have a nice visit with friends somewhere today, look at it that way.”
“I will do. And let me just say that I’m not sure that I’m ready for all that today’s throwing at us, but I’ll do my best.”
“Then it’ll all work out, because your best always saves the day, baby.”
“Thanks, I needed that. Truly.”
We shared that we loved each other and I got off the phone just as the com came back on. “K-9, Secret Service, and A-C Security have all cleared Mister Somerall and Miz Lee for entry,” Walter shared.
“Then have them brought in via the same extra-crispy guard, Walt.”
“Absolutely, Chief First Lady. Your Secret Service and A-C Security details will take the handoff and will do the escort. K-9 squad will also escort. Com off.”
“They’ll be going at human official speeds, so presumably slowly. Which means we have a couple minutes. What’s our determination on Lizzie’s presence?” Figured I needed to ask again now that her adoptive father was in the room.
“As long as I’m approved to kill them if they look at her wrong, let them in,” Siler said.
“Jeff absolutely gave you Executive Permission, but I think Mom wants them alive for the time being.”
“I do. However, I think we’re going to get more information if Lizzie’s in the room than if she’s not. Especially since your A-C Security detail is with the visitors.”
“And Prince, Duke, and Riley will totes tell Kitty if anything’s up, too,” Lizzie added. Correctly.
“Imageers and empaths and top police dogs, oh my.”
CHAPTER 10
DID A FAST COUNT in my head—we were about to have a lot of people join us in my office. My office wasn’t set up to host a kegger. “Vance, I think we need to choose another location for this group tête-à-tête. Any suggestions?”
“If we want room to run in case of attack, the Kennedy Garden would be my pick.” Vance’s sarcasm meter went well past eleven.
“I like it. It gives us room and also advises them that we’re not interested in hanging out. Though I must remind you that the last time I went out on the lawns during times of potential crisis my personal Fem-Bot showed up to share that Operation Madhouse was underway.”
“For the number of people, the Garden lawn is, frankly, the most practical,” Abner added. Mrs. Maurer and Colette nodded their agreement. The rest of the room didn’t look as thrilled.
“It also leaves Missus Executive Chief open for sniper attack,” Buchanan said. “So my vote is no. And since I’m the Head of White House Security and also since my real job is to do what the Director of the P.T.C.U. assigned me to do, which is to protect Missus Executive Chief, her children—which includes her ward—and, by extension, her husband, my vote wins. We stay inside.”
Mom heaved a sigh. “Malcolm has a point. However, I don’t see how we’re safe crowded into this room with, literally, thirty or more people and dogs.”
Buchanan rolled his eyes. “Fine. Far be it for me to actually do my job.”
“Com on!”
“Yes, Chief First Lady?”
“Walt, do Malcolm a solid and put the shields up. Or at least up over the Kennedy Gardens. We’re going to receive our unwanted guests there. Please also advise whoever’s leading that particular tour group that this is where they should go. And anyone else who might need to know, probably starting with the President.”
“We have a time window where I can engage shields over the entire complex. However, that window is no more than thirty minutes.”
“Make it so, and we’ll be fast.” Looked around. “Time to link up and do the hyperspeed daisy chain, gang.”
“No,” Vance said sternly. “The First Lady does not race to meet with those not on her schedule. The First Lady does not race to meet those who are on her schedule, either, but absolutely not for unplanned, uninvited, and unwanted visitors. She will gracefully arrive, not out of breath, regardless of the fact that she’s meeting visitors outside and there’s a time limit.”
“What Vance said,” Abner added. “Kitty, this is the time for you to do some Washington Wife channeling and remember that you’re the top female in the world. Make sure they remember that.”
Took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Points taken. So, let’s saunter gracefully downstairs, shall we? Definitely taking the elevator.”
Thankfully, I didn’t need to quickly change clothes. Because of my stint on Good Day USA! I actually wasn’t in what I considered one of my FLOTUS Uniform options—either a black skirt and suit jacket with an iced blue blouse with black pumps and light blue accessories, or an iced blue suit with a cream blouse and cream pumps and accessories. My “color” had been determined to be iced blue, so now everything I wore had to include the color somewhere. I’d used to really love the color blue. Now it made me feel trapped. And the less said about anyone being stupid enough to put me into a light color like cream or white the better.
Of course, the A-Cs loved black and white. Adored it, really. They always wore what I called the Armani Fatigues—black suits and ties with crisp white shirts for the men, black slim skirts and pumps with white oxfords for the women. I’d been sick of black and white. Once. Now I was sick of blue
and cream, too. If this went on, I’d hate the entire color spectrum soon.
However, today I was dressed in a sleeveless black and iced blue dress that had managed to remain fairly clean, despite my tussle on the studio floor. This was because we had a designer on exclusive retainer, and Akiko was, by now, well used to what I and, therefore, the clothes she designed for me, got up to. All of my clothes were treated with stain retardant, and most of them were made so that when I got physical the clothes wouldn’t rip.
So I looked presentable for both our uninvited guests and anyone who might be hanging around with a telephoto lens. Actively put this into the win column because that column was really bare.
Grabbed my purse and dropped my phone back into it. Most First Ladies didn’t run around with their purses on the White House grounds, which only proved to me that they’d had far easier lives as the FLOTUS than I was scoring. I’d learned long ago not to let my purse and its contents out of my reach, and nothing that had happened since Operation Fugly had ever given me a reason to change this mindset.
Thusly armed with whatever my purse might have on hand, we headed off. Based on the fact that we were on the second floor and had chosen to discuss what we were doing, we reached the first floor as Walter shared that the visitors and their security entourage were already waiting for us at the gazebo in the garden.
“Shields are active now, Chief First Lady. Please remember that I’ll have to turn them off in thirty minutes so that those coming to join you and the President will be allowed through.”
“God forbid we don’t have everyone we care about protected or anything.”
“I’d prefer to leave the shields on twenty-four-seven, but the White House can’t function that way,” Walter said regretfully. “We also have standard food deliveries along with other necessities due to arrive around the same time. I will plan to turn the shields back on once all those are through.”
“Don’t bother,” Vance said. “Barring Angela saying any different, we have to continue to have Jeff function as much like a normal President as possible. Re-election will go far easier that way.”
“We hope and, my God, is it really time to consider that?”
“It’s never not time,” Abner said as we got into the elevator. Well, most of us. Colette grabbed Len and Kyle while Siler took Wruck and Buchanan, and they all hypersped off.
Colette and the boys were waiting for us when the elevator opened, and we headed off to something I hoped would go better than my time on Good Day USA! had. Vance ensured that we did indeed saunter. Mom and Len were in the lead, with Vance and me right behind them. Lizzie was behind us with Colette, Abner and Mrs. Maurer behind them, and Kyle brought up the rear.
True to form, Team Tough Guys were nowhere to be seen. Whether that was because Siler was blending all three of them or they were working spread out from each other, stealth was each of their middle names. Which was fine. The less our enemies got eyes on the three of them, the better. Buchanan had lost memories and almost died more than once because the Mastermind had spotted who he was. The less anyone could see my secret weapons, the better.
Speaking of stealth and the bird species that could go chameleon, felt something feathered nudge against my leg. Didn’t reach down to pet Bruno, because that would have given away that at least one Peregrine was with us, but it was nice to know he was there.
Peregrines were Alpha Four birds raised for thousands of years to protect the royal family. They were beautiful, resembling peacocks and peahens on steroids. Emperor Alexander, Jeff and Christopher’s cousin, had sent a set of twelve mated pairs to celebrate Jamie’s first birthday, and Bruno and Lola, the Head Birds of this flock, considered themselves my immediate family’s official protectors.
Originally, we’d feared that the Peregrines weren’t going to mate, but that concern was a thing of the past. We had Peregrines in the way other places had pigeons. Actually, we didn’t have any pigeons at the White House or American Centaurion Embassy because the Peregrines and ocellars—fox-cats from Beta Eight that had come home with us after Operation Civil War—considered them delicacies. No one complained—pigeons tended to be stupid, nasty, flying poop bombs and, until such time as a pigeon decided to chat with me, were fair game for my intelligent pets who understood the concept of walkies and litter boxes.
Thusly surrounded by armed and feathered protectors, we arrived in a stately manner. I was only stately because Vance had my arm wrapped through his so that when I inevitably tripped he was there to steady me. Len being right in front of me blocked most of that, too. Go team.
Somerall and the woman I assumed was Talia Lee were indeed in the gazebo, the many security forces spread out around them, with Secret Service and A-C teams outside of the gazebo and the three D.C.P.D. officers and their dogs on the inside. If someone randomly took a picture it would probably look like we were visiting a nasty Third World dictator.
The K-9 dogs were at their version of attention, meaning they were sitting bolt upright, muzzles forward. Also meant no dog lovies for me right now, but sacrifices had to be made.
Somerall fancied himself a ladies’ man and flashed me a wide smile I was fairly sure he thought made women weak-kneed. Didn’t work on me or the women with me, but then again, we knew him. He was a little shorter than Jeff, so I put him at six-two. Mid-fifties but with a full head of silver hair, good build, average nice looks. Had to admit if I’d met him randomly in the supermarket I might find him charming.
“Missus Martini, how good of you to receive us. I can’t tell you how much Talia and I appreciate your taking the time,” Somerall said as my escort team fanned out behind me. He sounded totally sincere, though I was sure that he was being sarcastic on the inside. “And we understand the need for . . . precautions.”
“I’m sure you do.” Somerall was definitely one of the reasons we’d needed precautions for a long time, after all.
Somerall stepped forward, hand extended. Prince, my favorite of all the K-9 dogs, growled. The kind of growl that shared that Somerall was going to lose that hand if he didn’t step right back into his approved position. Extra treats for Prince were definitely in his near future.
Not being an idiot, Somerall so stepped back and put his hand down. “What, ah, good dogs you have,” Lee said, tone indicating she didn’t like dogs and never would. To her credit, though, she neither tried to step forward nor offer her hand.
“D.C.P.D.’s finest. I’m sorry, we haven’t met. Who are you?” I mean, I knew, but why be nice about this?
Wasn’t sure what I’d been expecting Lee to look like, but I’d presumed she’d be of Asian descent. She wasn’t. She had blonde hair, blue eyes, and a Southern accent. She was trim and attractive, and her Washington color appeared to be fuchsia. Or so I presumed, since she was in various complementary shades, and her pumps matched her suit.
Unlike Lillian Culver, whose color was red and who first looked attractive before you realized she was really all bones and angles, Lee was more rounded and soft. But I recognized the look in her eyes—it was the same Killer Instinct look that Culver had always had with me until we’d become friends.
“I’m so sorry,” Somerall said, oozing regret. “For some reason I just assumed that you two would have met by now. This is Talia Lee, the head lobbyist for the firearms people. Talia, obviously you know who the First Lady is.”
“Obviously,” Lee said. It was official, she didn’t care for me. Somehow, I’d find the will to go on.
“Pleasure,” I lied. “Now that we’ve been officially introduced, why have you two barged in? Normally appointments are made and confirmed or, in your case, Ansom, you call me and make ludicrous threats. Just wanted the personal touch?”
“No, we actually have something we wanted to speak with you about.” Somerall looked around. “Privately.”
“Oh, the presence of these thirty or so other people is plenty
private enough for me.”
“You may not agree once we share what we’ve come to discuss,” Lee said.
“Huh. The last time I got an offer like this it was someone sharing doctored dirty pictures of me and men who aren’t my husband. Let’s hear what you two have and see if it tops that.” Wanted to say that I bet that it wouldn’t, but refused to do so, because I was smart enough not to sell my enemies short.
Lee shrugged. “Have it your way. We know who was making robotic versions of you and Janelle Gardiner.”
CHAPTER 11
TOOK ALL OF MY SELF-CONTROL, but I managed not to say that we knew it was Lee and Somerall. Instead, I shrugged. “Really? How interesting. Who?”
“A relative of your husband’s,” Somerall replied.
Well, that much was kind of true. Stephanie was definitely creating androids and such. However, while she might have been involved with the Fem-Bot project near the beginning of Operation Madhouse, by the time we’d discovered it, it seemed quite clear that Somerall, Lee, and the NSA were the ones in charge.
“Really? Who?”
“Christopher White.” Somerall said this in a Ta-Da! kind of way.
Managed not to snort, but it took serious effort. “Thanks for your ridiculous intel. We’re done here.” Turned to leave.
“Wait,” Lee said. “It’s not the real one.”
Well, that was different. Turned back around. “Beg pardon?”
“We know it’s not really your husband’s cousin,” Lee said. “But he looks just like him.”
“Christopher doesn’t have a twin.”
“No, he doesn’t,” Somerall agreed. “But he’s got a doppelganger out there, and that person is creating robotic versions of you and poor Janelle. And God alone knows who else.”
The Washington Wife class would counsel serene acceptance and assigning a task force to investigate these claims. But I was far better off as Megalomaniac Girl. Just hoped Mom wouldn’t mind what I was about to say.