Alien Education

by Gini Koch

  Reader nodded to everyone, moved between me and Van Dyke, offered his arm which I took, and we left the Death Trap in our dust.

  CHAPTER 66

  “GOD, I THOUGHT we’d never get away,” Reader said, as we started looking for Marcia in earnest again.

  “Dude, truer words and all that.”

  Still didn’t see Marcia, but spotted the corner where Chuckie, Nathalie, and Kendrick were standing and joined them, in no small part because they were hidden from the Dealers of Death Huddle. Hugged everyone, but noted that Kendrick looked worried. Chuckie too, though he was hiding it. “What’s wrong?”

  “I discovered that someone’s stolen Titan tech,” Kendrick said. “We aren’t sure if it’s domestic or international thieves, but all the information on our Miniaturization line has been taken.”

  “Taken or copied?” Reader asked.

  “Taken, then replaced with schematics that look right but are wrong. It was discovered yesterday. We’ve torn the building and all our data apart, but it’s gone.”

  “That line, that’s the one with the metal tarantulas and other bugs, right?”

  “Yes,” Chuckie answered. “As in, someone’s stolen the tech that was used against us and also taken the information that would allow us to combat it.”

  “My bet is Gaultier Enterprises and/or YatesCorp. Conveniently, Janelle Gardiner and Amos Tobin are here with a whole slew of other noxious people. Enjoy questioning them.”

  “We can’t,” Kendrick said. “There’s literally no evidence that connects them to this at all.”

  We all heaved a group sigh. “I suppose I should go over and support Vance,” Nathalie said. “Perhaps they’ll say something that would give us a clue to who stole the tech.”

  “Only if you’re thinking the tech was stolen before all of us were born. Myron Van Dyke is possibly the most boring person I’ve met in a long time, and he’s telling the longest story in the world. I’m sure it’s not over. It may not be over until we all go home.”

  “They won’t tell you anything,” Reader added. “I’m sure they know you and Chuck are dating by now, even though it’s not common knowledge.”

  Kendrick looked surprised. “Really? That’s great, congratulations!”

  Chuckie looked a little embarrassed, but Nathalie just laughed and hugged him. “We were trying to be discreet.”

  “Sorry, I’m the one who told James. I was kind of excited to share the news.”

  Chuckie smiled at me. “It’s okay, Kitty. I’m glad you approve.”

  “I do. But since we’re supposed to be all stealth about your romantic life—and I assume that’s just so Chuckie can continue to dominate the tabloids as my not-so-secret lover because he just digs the spotlight—have you guys seen Marcia?”

  They all laughed. “Oh yes,” Nathalie said. “And I want to be on record as having an affair with Jeff, just so that we keep it in the family.”

  “Let’s just say you’re all swingers now,” Reader suggested with a wicked grin.

  “I think that would mean getting more attention from Guy than I want.” I wanted none, so any extra wasn’t what I was hoping for. “So no.” The music changed to “In the Next Room” by the Neon Trees. Considered this. “I realize this ballroom is huge, but James and I have been what seems like all over. Is there another room she might be in?”

  “Bathroom,” Nathalie suggested. “I know she’s here, we spoke with her when we arrived.”

  “Only if she’s got a gastrointestinal issue. We literally haven’t seen her since we got here.”

  “The kitchen is all I can think of,” Chuckie said.

  “Worth a shot.”

  He told us where the kitchens were and Reader and I headed that way. Jeff was now up on the stage, talking to Kramer and Charmaine and whoever they were with. Would have worried but he was loaded with security. Speaking of which, I hadn’t seen mine anywhere. Mentioned this to Reader, who sighed.

  “Kitty, we’re here to work. Everyone’s aware that you work better without the Secret Service shadowing you.”

  “I’m just shocked that everyone’s finally accepted reality.”

  “They’re literally lining the walls. They just aren’t hanging out with us. You’re still stuck with only me.”

  “I’ll try to find the will to go on.”

  We reached the kitchen’s swinging door, which Reader opened carefully since staff were bustling in and out and he didn’t want to hit anyone or be hit. Entered a short hallway and came to another swinging door. Made it inside unscathed, but only just. To see utter bedlam.

  People were running back and forth, others were shouting at each other or everyone, and it was hot. “What the hell?”

  Reader chuckled. “Welcome to what a real kitchen looks like.” He put his arm around my waist and moved us deftly through and around.

  “Nothing’s on fire, therefore, it’s nothing like what I consider a real kitchen.” Hey, I wasn’t what anyone would consider good in the kitchen. I could make omelets normally without burning the house down. Otherwise? Jeff had done all the cooking when we’d felt unsociable and hadn’t wanted to eat in the Base commissary or with the others at the Embassy, and the Elves had always delivered when Jeff didn’t want to cook. Now Chef and P-Chef managed this part of my life, and I was droolingly grateful for it.

  “Good point.” Reader zipped us around a clutch of servers, backtracked us to avoid something spilling, stopped to point out a spice to a prep cook who was searching for it, and spotted Marcia, all in the space of about thirty seconds.

  “How is it you’re so comfy in here?”

  “I’m from Vegas, remember? One of my uncles runs a restaurant in Caesar’s. I used to help out when I wanted a break from modeling, especially when I was a teenager.”

  “Wow. You saw this kind of chaos as a break from being the world’s top male fashion model?”

  He grinned. “Yep. You can learn a lot about managing people and situations working in a big kitchen.”

  “Wow again. You learned major life skills, I learned about how to use the fire extinguisher. One of these things is not like the other.”

  Reader laughed. “Oh, you learned what you needed, girlfriend, never doubt it.”

  We reached Marcia, who was in animated conversation with the man I figured was the head chef. They weren’t screaming or hitting each other, but both seemed just a moment or two away. They were fighting about supplies, as near as I could make out. And neither one of them noticed that we were there.

  “Marcia, there you are.” Said more to ensure she and the chef didn’t come to blows than anything else.

  It worked. They both stopped and turned toward us. The chef looked like he wanted to tell us to get out, Marcia looked ready to burst into tears. “Oh, Madam First Lady, I’m so sorry you had to come searching for me.”

  The chef jerked at my title, stood up straighter, and instantly put a pleasant expression onto his face. Wasn’t surprised he hadn’t recognized me—I wasn’t with Jeff, I wasn’t in my FLOTUS colors, and the world wasn’t blowing up around me. Totally understood his confusion.

  “Marcia, it’s fine, and we’ve known each other long enough that you shouldn’t be calling me anything other than Kitty. But everything in here doesn’t seem to be going well. Is there anything we can do to help?”

  “I’m sorry, Kitty, I’m just so frazzled right now.”

  “So, tell me what we do to unfrazzle you.”

  She eyed Reader. “Ah, is your husband here?”

  Knew what she was insinuating. Marcia had already thought I was having an affair with White, the tabloids lived to insist Chuckie and I were zooming each other, why not think I was parading my latest boyfriend around at the Sidwell fundraiser? At least it meant Marcia felt that I had great taste in men.

  “Yes, he’s currently talki
ng to your husband and Charmaine Cordell. This is James Reader, the Commander of all of American Centaurion’s military forces. He’s my babysitter for tonight. Back to you. What’s going on?”

  “We’re missing half of our food supply,” the chef said, voice clipped. “As in, we’re going to run out of hors d’oeuvres within half an hour. This would be bad enough at a regular event, but for this to happen when the President and First Lady are here, along with the foreign dignitaries they’ve graciously brought with them, is, frankly, going to ruin me.”

  “It’s true,” Marcia said, sounding close to tears. “And I’m so sorry. Things seemed so prepared earlier.”

  “Seriously? One event without enough snacks and you don’t work in this town again?” They all looked at me. Could feel all three of them thinking “duh” at me in a very loud way. And, they were right. There was always someone right behind you, ready to leap when you made the smallest mistake. Screwing up the food—which would be considered the chef’s fault, regardless of reality—was indeed career death. He’d have to pray Reader’s uncle needed an assistant in order to keep working at the level he was at. “Um, yeah, okay, having given that another moment’s thought, yeah, I get it.”

  “What happened?” Reader asked briskly. “And what do you need?”

  “Three of our food delivery trucks haven’t arrived,” the chef said. “We have no idea where they or their drivers have gone. As for what we need, things we can’t find at this hour in the quantities we need.”

  “We can,” I said calmly. “Just tell James what it is you want. We’ll get it for you.”

  The chef looked like he didn’t believe me, but he gave Reader a list anyway. Or, rather, he gave Pierre the list via speakerphone.

  Marcia shook her head. “Bob went off to try to gather things, and we haven’t heard from him, either.”

  “Bob?”

  “Cordell, Charmaine’s husband.”

  “So, she’s aware that we’re having a food crisis?”

  “She is.” Marcia grimaced. “She didn’t offer to help out, Bob did. He’s a lovely man.”

  “What’s he doing married to Charmaine?” Whoops. My mouth was speaking without my brain’s permission. Hated when that happened.

  Marcia rolled her eyes. “Who knows? I mean, she’s attractive, and driven, and she’s done wonders for the school. But she’s so . . . mean.”

  “Yeah, and this is coming from two women who survived the Washington Wife class.”

  She managed to laugh. “Exactly.”

  “I was searching for you to figure out how we wanted to do the donations. I brought a lot of people who have told me they’re going to give money, but I have no idea how they’re supposed to do that.”

  “Charmaine was supposed to tell me what to do. But instead she and my husband spotted a mutual friend and went off to talk to him.”

  “Really? Who?”

  “Doctor Rattoppare.”

  CHAPTER 67

  HOPED I’D MANAGED TO get my poker face on. “Who’s that?”

  Marcia shrugged. “Someone they both revere. Zachary met him when he was on Senate business in France.”

  Realized that we’d assumed the Kramer on Stryker’s list was Marcia. But, as I thought about it, Marcia was Kramer’s third wife. Apparently when one wore out, he just dumped her and got a new one. So, the person aging was him, in that sense. But right now, he was at the Perfect Politician age and had Perfect Politician looks. Knew he wanted to be President, and looks had mattered in the Presidential elections since the Kennedy-Nixon debates. Why not stay just as he was now? He had a slew of kids, so wife number four could either come with her own or just need to not want any. Maybe he’d stored his sperm, for that matter. Either way, he didn’t need more children. What he felt he needed was Jeff’s job.

  Time to find out if Marcia had done the Treatment, too, though. “So, you haven’t met the good doctor?”

  She grimaced. “No. Zachary feels that we wouldn’t have anything in common. Which is insulting to me, but you put up with your husband’s quirks, right?”

  Jeff’s quirks basically consisted of him being jealous and needing adrenaline if he’d overdone it in terms of saving the world and using his empathic talents. Other than that, I didn’t consider perfection to be quirky. “Ah, right.”

  “Handled,” Reader said to us, saving me from having to make any more comments about the state of Marcia’s marriage, as a stream of agents flowed into the kitchens, carrying a lot of foodstuffs. “You have the number now, so if you need anything else, just call Pierre and he’ll ensure that you have whatever you need.”

  The chef grinned and shook Reader’s hand. “Thank you. I owe you, so if your chef ever needs a vacation,” he looked me, “and I include the White House in this, just call me and I’ll fill in, free of charge.” He handed Reader his card, then went back to shouting at his staff. Decided that my not being comfortable in kitchens was A-okay.

  “May I?” Reader asked Marcia, as he put his arm back around my waist.

  She giggled. “It’s hard to say no to the handsomest man around.”

  “Isn’t it though? I almost never say no to James.”

  “Oh, that’s because I’m always right.” Reader put his other arm around Marcia’s waist and escorted us out, once again moving us through the kitchen like a pro.

  “Oh, and before I forget, thank you so much for bringing along the Good Day USA! anchors and that delicious Jürgen Cologne.” Marcia giggled again. “He truly is a charming, talented man.”

  “He is. But I haven’t seen him, Kristie, or Adam since we’ve been here.”

  “Oh, they set up with the Good Day USA! crew on the back patio of the ballroom. They’re doing interviews with Jürgen and various guests. It’s going to be wonderful publicity.”

  “I sincerely hope so. What are the odds Charmaine takes all the credit for it?”

  “I wouldn’t bet against it,” Marcia said.

  “I wouldn’t either,” Reader said as we rejoined the party. It seemed extremely calm in comparison to the kitchens. Reader spotted White. “Ladies, will you excuse me a moment? I need to speak with Richard about American Centaurion’s donation.”

  “Sure, and whatever he thinks, ensure that the dignitaries that came along are giving at least as much.”

  Reader nodded. “Absolutely.” He headed off for White, presumably to share that it was Trevor who was here and to help with the search. Hoped he’d also figured out that Kramer was the new cyborg, but it was Reader so he probably had.

  This, though, left me with Marcia and not a lot to talk about. Went for the lame but obvious as we wandered through the ballroom, thankfully not on the side where the Dealers of Death were hanging out. “Sidwell has a nice setup.”

  “It does,” Marcia agreed. “Since the lower schools have been able to join this campus, the amenities the school can provide have increased immeasurably. They’ve even added dormitories for out-of-state and out-of-country students.”

  “Impressive.” It was. It was like this was a mini-college in some ways. The tuition, for starters. “Why does the PTA need so much money, though?”

  “Oh, well, it’s because we raise the funds for things like those dormitories, this ballroom, the kitchens, and so on. We ensure that whatever school supplies—be it books, tutors, professional guests and outside experts, and so on—are available for all of the faculty. As well as providing the ability for the teachers to take the children on trips to more than the zoo.”

  “Hey, I like the zoo.”

  “Oh, I do, too. And we have a treasure trove of museums and such here. But still, there’s something special about being able to go to the place where the history happened.”

  “Wait, you do foreign field trips?”

  “Well, we support them, yes, and the children get to go, within reason for thei
r ages and what their parents will allow. We also cover the costs for the parental chaperones. As the President of the PTA, Charmaine is normally the one who gets to go, and she chooses the parents who are also allowed to go as chaperones. Needless to say, I’ve never been included.” She tried to make the last sentence sound light, but didn’t manage it.

  Felt bad for Marcia. Her first set of friends had kind of dumped her to hang out with me—a state of affairs no one who’d known us in the Washington Wife class could have ever predicted, Buchanan included—and now Charmaine kept her out of Sidwell’s PTA in-crowd. And, frankly, her husband had also backed the wrong horse and created enemies out of the people currently in power. The woman couldn’t win.

  “Well, I’m sure you and your friends here still manage to do fun things with the kids.”

  She looked at me with a combination of shame and pity on her face. “No. There’s only two camps here for parents—those who’ve earned Charmaine’s favor and those who haven’t. I haven’t. And, despite all you’ve done to help me make this fundraiser a success, I don’t think I ever will.”

  “But that doesn’t mean you don’t have friends here.” I sincerely hoped.

  She shrugged. “In a way. But everyone’s cowed by Charmaine. I am, too, so I can’t pass judgment.”

  “So, she really is the head of the Mean Girls here, isn’t she?”

  “Yes. She gives you opportunities to get into her favor but . . .”

  “Well, I’m about a hundred percent certain she set both of us up to fail.”

  “She might have,” Marcia said sadly. “I just feel badly for Clinton.”

  “Clinton?”

  “My stepson. He’s the youngest of Zachary’s children with his second wife, but he lives with us and he’s our eldest here. He’s a senior, but that’s too close to Charmaine’s children’s year. They’ve made things . . . difficult for him. Especially because he didn’t go to Sidwell all the way through, so he didn’t have an established base of friends before Charmaine arrived.”