by Gini Koch
“Hopefully nothing but boredom, baby. I’m really hoping for boredom.”
“Me, too.” Closed my eyes and was out like a light.
Had mostly dreamless sleep. The dreams I did have were fractured and odd, nothing concrete, other than I kept on hearing Gladys reassuring me that Joe and Randy were okay, which was nice. Heard someone else that might have been Mephistopheles or might have been Michael Gower or might have been someone else telling me to stay alert. But that was it.
Woke up to the sounds of Fall Out Boy’s “Calm Before The Storm.” Hoped that meant we’d get some breathing time.
Spent the whole day waiting for the next attack, but nothing happened. The kids got to school safely, I got my team onto the hockey charity game idea, normal political business was handled, things were the calmest I’d seen for a while. Did not argue with this outcome.
The hockey game was set up fast—apparently when the White House asked for a fundraiser for a preseason game that wasn’t sold out, the NHL jumped. The game was the first weekend in October, and we got the word out immediately, right within Charmaine’s time limit.
There were weekly PTA meetings and, God help me, I attended every one, and forced Marcia to go with me. Charmaine was her usual sniffing self, but since everyone knew about the scandal, Marcia was getting a lot of sympathetic support and Charmaine had to behave herself.
The kids were loving Sidwell, and Lizzie reported that the Cordell twins were doing okay and actually trying to be nice to her and the rest of “our” kids, which now included Clinton and the younger Kramer boys. Wasn’t sure if they were faking it to learn things for their mother or if they were trying to separate themselves from her. Figured time would tell.
Mom’s hunch about Van Dyke turned out to be true—he was able to fully hide behind freedom of religion, and there was nothing we could do about it. Presumably he was all tapped out financially, or was saving all his money for his Treatment, because no other attacks were perpetrated on the Intergalactic School and all was well there, too.
The police investigation into Robert Cordell’s death was at a standstill. We all knew who’d done it, but proving it was another thing entirely. Even with CIA assistance, the case was going to end up in the cold case section, and we all knew it.
Due to all that had happened, we were getting wonderful coverage from Good Day USA!, and the Kristie-Bot didn’t miss any chances to say how great I was and how fantastic Code Name: First Lady would be. Adam was managing to fake enthusiasm, and he sent me daily reports on how the Kristie-Bot was acting. Normal, so far.
Cologne and Gadhavi both chose to hang around until the hockey game, Gadhavi because he was working closely with Mom and Chuckie on a variety of things, Cologne because he was negotiating with Raj and Colette about what he was and wasn’t going to get to represent in the movies. Actively chose to avoid those meetings as much as possible.
Basically, three wonderful weeks went by and the only things I had to worry about were learning more about my Galactic Representative role and my normal FLOTUS and mother duties. After the couple of days I’d had, this all seemed remarkably easy.
Got to meet the Chupacabras too, which was really exciting, and the Capitals, which was nice but slightly less exciting because they weren’t “my” team. But they were all really nice, too.
Both teams signed a team picture for me, and I signed a stick and a puck for both of them. Then the Capitals gave me my own official puck and the Chupacabras gave me my own official stick, both of which I was going to get to use at the game, since I was going to get to slap the opening puck. Might not slap it right at Charmaine, but wasn’t going to guarantee that.
The night of the game came almost too quickly, but I was so excited about it that the day prior seemed hella slow and was, thankfully, totally uneventful. Opening day was on Sunday, so our game was Saturday and, thanks to the fundraiser and Charmaine’s rabid advertising of such, we were sold out and everyone had spent a damned pretty penny to be in the seats, too. Most of D.C.’s and a lot of Hollywood’s movers and shakers were going to be there, so I expected to make a ton of money over and above what we already had on the tickets alone. Go me for fundraising done right!
Naturally, I couldn’t convince Jeff to wear jeans to this event. The suit was going to adapt and make do or Jeff was going to die trying to make it work. I was decked out in full Chupacabras gear, including a team t-shirt, a team jersey, and a team cap, and I’d gotten said gear for all the kids, too. Every kid called out as “mine” got the gear, because if you were mine you were a Chups fan or you were dead to me. We looked like a giant Chupacabras rally being led by a museum docent, but chose not to share that with Jeff, because it would have hurt his feelings.
Thusly attired, we arrived at the arena early, so I could make sure that everything was going according to plan. Making me want to faint, it was. We had the best seats I’d ever had—center ice, first row, right on the glass. Security was all set, the teams were in readiness, the Chups assured me they were going to win, and I was ready to get this party started.
Game time wasn’t for another hour and a half, however. So, we got snacks that Jeff didn’t want to eat but all the kids did. Apparently, A-Cs weren’t used to eating crappy hot dogs, cotton candy, nachos, and the like—most of the A-C adults seemed to be making do with sodas and, in some instances, peanuts. Jeff was happy with a Coke, but that was about it.
But he ate the food anyway, to show willing and so the kids would follow his lead and not cause me to have to pout and eat all the junk food myself. Not that there was a risk of that. All of them, Jamie and Charlie included, wolfed down this junk food like it was Nectar of the Gods, just like the rest of the human adults with us did. I was so proud.
Forty-five minutes to go, though, and my phone rang. Looked at it.
“Oh, fantastic.”
“What?” Jeff asked, as I dug out the tracker thingy and put it in.
“Another call from an unknown number.”
Jeff groaned while I answered. “Hello?”
“Get out of the arena right now,” a voice I didn’t recognize said. “Or everyone’s going to die.”
CHAPTER 81
“WHO IS THIS?” Wasn’t Robert Cordell, unless he was calling me from beyond the grave.
“Someone who doesn’t want to see the end of the world.”
“Right. Seriously, who is this?”
“Who else is listening to this call?”
“Um, only me. So far. I mean, I could put you on speaker if you so desire.”
“No, let’s keep it just you and me.” The voice sounded weird, not a like a real person’s voice.
“Um, why should I? Just asking and all.”
“Your tracking equipment can’t trace this call, so stop trying to draw it out.”
“Honestly wasn’t.” That was the tracker thingy’s job, not mine. Was trying to get them to give away word or phrasing clues as to who they really were, however, and that did require a longer conversation. “Truly trying to figure out who you are. The last dude who called me like this was dying. Are you also dying?”
“Everyone’s dying, some slower than others.”
“As I always say, philosophy’s nice. I’m not sure why you’re calling to share your philosophy with me, let alone using a voice modulating system to do it, but carry on.”
“Well done.”
“Do people not figure out that you’re using voice modulation? I mean that question seriously. You sound like Arrow on The CW when Oliver Queen is pretending to himself that no one can see his face ’cause it’s kind of dark. How would anyone not realize you’re using some kind of voice modulating software?”
“You’d be amazed. Or maybe you wouldn’t.”
“Apparently I wouldn’t.”
They laughed. “Good point.”
Had a really strong feeling
about who this was. “Hang on a mo, need to get to a more private place.” Hit mute and turned to Jeff, who was holding Charlie and doing his best to distract him so our little boy didn’t hear this call. Yeah, Jeff rarely had a Parenting Fail. If I made it through a day without one, I threw myself a party.
“Planning a tryst?” Jeff asked, sarcasm knob at only around five, while he pointed at the skaters warming up and Charlie clapped his little hands with glee.
“In a way. I think I’m talking to the Shadow, though I could be wrong. Going to leave the best seats and take this where little pitchers can’t hear.”
Jeff grunted. “I should go with you.” He did the hold the baby’s hand and wave thing as a couple of the Chupacabras skated over to wave at us. The rest of the kids waved too. I gave a thumbs-up. The players waved and did thumbs-up back, then skated off.
“Then who would buy the kids frozen lemonades and more cotton candy? No one. Stay with our children, sugar them up, I’ll be right back.”
“I wonder about your parenting skills. I know your parents didn’t raise you on sugar.”
“They did not. That was their one failing. Choosing not to make the same mistake. Now, hold down the fort. I have the Latest Lunatic Opening Gambit to deal with and I think I’ll handle it better if I know that you’re with the kids.”
He squeezed my hand. “Keep me posted and be careful, baby. They could be in the arena for all we know.”
“Exactly. And if they are, I want to find them.” Gave Jamie, who was far more into the cotton candy than whatever I was about, a kiss on the head. Gave Mom and Dad, who were on the other end of our row, the “watch the kids for me signal,” and gave Lizzie, who was behind me, the same. Moved out of the seats and headed up the stairs, waving to various people I knew—politicians, Sidwell parents, Hollywood people, various dignitaries domestic, foreign, and alien—as I did. Didn’t want anyone wondering what I was doing beyond taking a call in the bathroom or going to get more snacks. Which I was definitely doing once my latest Call O’ The Weird was done.
Wasn’t sure where Team Tough Guys was but took it on faith they were either following me or watching me. Turned off mute. “I’m back.”
“Have you reassured your husband that you’re not going to go have sex with another man? Or woman?”
“Ha ha ha, are you in here with us, monitoring us, or do you just know Jeff really well?”
“It doesn’t matter. I’m calling to warn you.”
“Great. Is this the Shadow?”
“The who?” The voice might be computerized but shock made it through. “Come again?”
“The Shadow. Um, I tend to nickname our enemies. And friends. And other things.”
“Oh. Yes. It’s kind of a cute trait. So, you’re calling me the Shadow?”
“Yes, if you’re who I think you are—the shadowy figure that’s manipulating Janelle Gardiner, Zachary Kramer, someone or someones at the NSA, and probably many other people. The person who learned a lot more than anyone else realized from Madeleine Cartwright.”
The Shadow was quiet as I reached the top of the concourse and spotted Buchanan, presumably because he wanted me to so spot. Headed over to him. He took my arm and led me down the concourse. My Secret Service and Field team details appeared and surrounded us as we kept moving. Stopped paying attention to anything other than my call.
“Yes, I am. The Shadow. I like it.”
“So pleased. So, you were calling to warn me supposedly?”
“Yes. There’s going to be an attack. Focused on you.”
“Why do you care as opposed to throwing a party and managing the pay-per-view? And why would that signal the end of the world? Was that just for dramatic effect?”
“Because I don’t want you dead. At least, not yet. It’s also not hyperbole to suggest that, if we lose the person who’s been averting Armageddon, the world could end.”
“Huh. Those are statements that really beg several questions. I’ll bet you can guess them all, too.”
The Shadow chuckled again. “I suppose I can.”
“Suppose you share, just to make me feel all special.”
“Suppose you guess, to prove you’re as smart as I think you are.”
This was different. Wasn’t used to any of them actually giving me credit. The Tinkerer had felt he had to come meet me in person to confirm if I had two brains cells to rub together. And yet the Shadow seemed to be taking it for granted.
Therefore, had to think fast. Why wouldn’t the Shadow want me dead yet? That they’d want me dead in the future was a given, but why not right now?
“Honestly? The only thing I can think of is that you’re happy that we’re taking out your competition.”
“See? You are as smart as I’d thought.”
“Okay, but I kind of thought all of you were in the same club.”
“You were on the track team, in the chess club, and in a sorority. And those are just the first three organizations off the top of my head. Did you like everyone in those organizations?”
“In chess club, yeah.” Hey, I’d been the only girl and the guys were all sweet and cool. Besides, I’d been BFFs with the president of the club for four years. Wondered if anyone had let Chuckie know I was on the phone. Had to figure Jeff had, if not Buchanan. “But in the others, no, I didn’t. And yeah, if we use the PTA as an example, if someone got rid of Charmaine for me, I’d be cheering them on and probably send them a fruit basket.”
“Most of those in my ‘club’ are more like her than not.”
We reached an office. Evalyne opened the door, Manfred went in, did the Hyperspeed Sweep, then the rest of us went inside. Once in with the door shut, Buchanan showed me his phone. There was no evidence that my tracker was working, meaning the Shadow was right—we had no idea what he or she was.
“Ugh.” Had nothing else to say. It worked on all the levels.
“Exactly.”
“So . . . I honestly don’t get it, though. You still have more in common with them than me.”
The Shadow chuckled. “Okay, that’s true. In a sense. But, oh . . . think of it as if we’re each the head of a drug cartel. You’re the law. And you’re making really good inroads into dismantling my competition. You make my life easier, because I’ve realized that if I let you take care of business, I don’t have to spend the effort to do so.”
“And, using your example, your cartel sends the cops tips, and maybe even warnings, since the cops are, in essence, being treated like a branch of your business. Maybe you even help us to take revenge when we lose one of our own, because that bonds us more.”
“Exactly. And until all the others are gone and I have a clear track, well, you’re far more useful alive and well than not.”
Chuckie arrived, looking worried. Waved, but kept my focus on the call.
“Huh. Well, it’s a novel approach, I’ll give you that.” It was the same approach the Tinkerer was taking, in essence. Only he’d asked for a cease-fire, and the Shadow wanted me to keep on kicking in doors and raiding meth labs. “And, ultimately, maybe it’ll work like Chicago in the nineteen-twenties. The cops make a deal with you, with ‘you’ standing in for Capone in this example, because they’re happy doing business with you after all this time, and it keeps more cops alive.”
“Yes. Though you don’t need to tell me that you won’t take that deal. I’m willing to wait, because I believe that, in time, you very well might.” The Tinkerer thought we’d take his deal, too. Far more positive offers than we usually got. “After all, Mister Ali Baba Gadhavi is sitting behind your husband, cheerfully sharing cotton candy with Prince Wasim and your ward, who opted to sit next to him because he promised to buy even more treats than you did.”
“Are you in here?”
“No. But some of those who are my eyes are.”
“Ansom and Talia?”
>
“You’ll have to wait to find out. Though I really suggest you evacuate immediately.”
“You know I can’t do that without a confirmation of a real threat.” And if this wasn’t a real threat, if the Shadow somehow wanted Charmaine to win this round, then me evacuating would be the end. My kids would have to leave Sidwell, regardless of whatever dare I’d taken, because they’d never live it down.
“All you’re getting is what I’ve said.”
“Yeah, got it, such as it is. Forgive me for not trusting your tip. Which is partly because I’m wondering how you know there’s going to be an attack in the first place. Did you order it, and now you’re trying to foil it because you’re really one with the whole Sith Lord plan?”
“No. I know because certain deals were made on the Dark Web and I can put two and two together.”
“More Fem-Bots?”
“The Mob never gave the cops tips that were all that specific, you know.”
“They did, actually. When they wanted to be sure the cops got the other cartel.”
“Maybe I don’t want to be sure.”
“You mean, maybe you enjoy the entertainment.”
The Shadow laughed again. “Yes, I do.”
“So glad I can help. Here’s something you may actually be willing and able to answer, though. Why did Janelle’s team make Bots that look like my ward, Lizzie, and why were those sent to attack the Intergalactic School?”
“That’s what you want to know? Seriously?”
“Yes. It’s been bugging me.”
“Because many of your enemies hate her at least as much as they hate you. You’ve been a problem since you appeared on the scene—she hit the scene a good fifteen years before you did, age-wise. Think of what she’ll be like when she reaches your age.”
“She’ll be totally awesome.”
“Yes, she will. She also embarrassed the children, nieces, nephews, and grandchildren of many of those ‘in the club’ with me, and they didn’t care for that. It’s the same reason most of the Bots being created look like you—they hate you. Both of you.”