Alien Collective (6 page)

I
LET VANCE’S STATEMENT
sit on the air for a bit. Because it wasn’t computing. At all. While I stood there in shocked silence I got to observe.

I observed that I had nothing I could say that wouldn’t sound extremely undiplomatic. I also observed that everyone was passing little signals to others in the room—Mom and Kevin to Buchanan; Chuckie to Len and Kyle; Mom again to Jakob, Oren and Leah, and then again to Khalid; Chuckie to Amy and Caroline; Kevin to Raj and White; Cliff and Horn to Culver and Nathalie; Reader to Lorraine, Claudia and Serene, and then to Nathalie; Kevin to Len and Kyle; Chuckie to Olga, Adriana, and Oliver; Gower to Doreen, Abigail, White, and Raj. It was a regular Secret Sign Fest in here.

The only ones not joining in on the fun were Jeff—who was cringing and trying not to show it, meaning that, regardless of whether or not my face was hiding my inner thoughts, my emotions were incredibly clear—and Christopher.

Christopher was the only person of our new arrivals acting normally. Well, normally for him. He was glaring. Patented Glare #1, to be exact. It was such a relief that I wanted to hug him. However, that would mean I’d have to move and speak, and right now, I didn’t trust myself to do either.

“Nice way to tell her,” he snapped at Vance.

“When were you planning on it?” Vance asked, sarcasm knob heading toward ten. “At the national convention?”

Managed to find my voice. “April Fools?” Hey, a girl could dream.

“It’s the end of July,” Christopher said. “So, no. Nice try.”

“Why are Christopher and Vance the only ones talking?”

Mom sighed. “Everyone’s waiting for your expected reaction.” She shook her head. “So, let’s get it out of the way so we can get down to business.”

“Can you get out of it?” This I directed to Jeff.

He grimaced. “Not really. It’s . . . political.”

Managed not to offer a snide reply. Jeff couldn’t be any more thrilled about this than I was. Went for the only thing I could think of—what I’d been thinking since Vance had shared the exciting news. “Has anyone considered the, ah, ramifications of the kind of . . . scrutiny a presidential or vice presidential candidate goes through? I mean
really
considered?”

Reader nodded. “It’s why we were all at Langley today. Discussing. Everyone feels that things can be . . . contained.”

Considered whose sanity to appeal to. Decided the guy who’d spent a lot of years sniffing around was the best choice. “MJO, can you perhaps share your extremely educated perspective on why this is likely to be the worst idea ever in the history of the world?”

“I believe that the situation could be less threatening than you believe it to be, Ambassador,” Oliver replied.

“I think it’s wonderful, Kitty,” Mona said. She appeared to be the only other person in the room who wasn’t clued in or getting secret signs passed to her. She looked quite pleased for us. I normally credited her with a hell of a lot more insight.

“It is?”

“Yes.” She beamed. “Why don’t you and Jeff go into one of the smaller salons and you two can discuss it as husband and wife.”

Ah. Mona was possibly more clued in than everyone else. And my good friend. Because I needed to talk to Jeff and I couldn’t risk saying anything in front of Culver, Cliff, or Horn, and presumably Mona realized this. Oliver probably had, too—he’d called me Ambassador and I was fairly sure he’d been lying about things being less threatening than I was imagining.

Khalid took my elbow and ushered me and Jeff out of this room, down a hall, and into a much smaller room that looked like a waiting room. “This is the antechamber to the Ambassador’s offices,” he said with a smile. So it was a waiting room, go me. “He’s not here at the moment, so you should have privacy.” Khalid nodded to us and closed the door.

Jeff opened the door leading to the Bahraini Ambassador’s office. “No one there.” He closed it, came over to me, pulled me into his arms, and hugged me tightly. His hearts were pounding. I hugged him back and felt his body relax a bit. “Are you, Jamie, and my mother alright? I wanted to call but Chuck and your mother wouldn’t let me.”

“Yeah, we’re fine. Because my ‘uncles’ are in town and gave Officer Melville and Malcolm the scary heads-ups.” Took a deep breath and moved out of our clinch. “Who in God’s name thinks you becoming Senator Armstrong’s running mate is a good idea?”

“Everyone, apparently.” Jeff ran his hand through his hair. “It wasn’t my idea.”

“I guessed. Whose idea was it?”

He sighed. “Don’s.”

“Senator McMillan suggested you? Is he high?”

“No. He thinks it will give voters something positive to choose.”

A-Cs were deadly allergic to alcohol, so I didn’t drink any more because I didn’t want to risk killing Jeff, or have him unable to kiss me. However, right now, I wanted the stiffest drink imaginable. “It’s going to give the press a really good time.”

“You don’t think I’m a good choice, do you?” Jeff asked in a low voice.

“Huh?” Looked at his expression—he looked disappointed and unconfident. This wasn’t an expression I was used to seeing on my husband’s face. Which meant he was reading my emotions incorrectly. Then again, my main emotion had been shocked horror. Maybe he was reading me right but interpreting me wrong.

I hugged him again. “Frankly, I think you’re a great choice. Jeff, you’re a natural leader and you always have been. It’s not you moving into a bigger position of power that worries me. It’s the fact that we have some scary skeletons in our closets.”

“Everyone knows I’m an alien.”

Wow. Due to our enemies giving Jeff a huge amount of Surcenthumain, what I thought of as the Superpowers Drug, he was amazingly enhanced. This meant a lot of things, but one of those things was that Jeff could practically read my mind. Backed up again and looked up at him. “Did you get hurt and no one wants to tell me about it?”

“No, why?”

“Because I’m not worried about you being ‘outed’ as an alien any more than I’m worried that our Supreme Pontifex is going to be ‘outed’ for being gay—both are very common knowledge by now and why both Club Fifty-One and the Church of Intolerance are so very fond of us. I’m worried as hell, though, about the fact that you and I used to do some really dangerous work, and that work included killing a variety of very bad people.”

“Oh.” He sounded relieved. “
That’s
what you’re so upset about.”

“That you’re
not
upset about it worries me. A lot. But not nearly as much as Mom, Chuckie and James not being completely worried about it.”

“We were discussing how to keep our former jobs under wraps, or how to discuss them, when the bombs went off.”

“Cannot wait to hear the plan so I can laugh a really bitter laugh while Mister Joel Oliver pokes ever so many holes into said plan. However, are you really okay? You all look fine, but you’re not really, um, reading me very well right now.”

Jeff grinned. “I’m stressed out of my mind, baby, and before you point out that I’ve had a stressful job since I was twenty, this is a very different kind of stress. This is stress based on doing another thing I really don’t want to do that I’m also not sure that I
can
do well. It’s affecting my ability to read anyone clearly, even you. I can get the dominant emotions, but not the nuance. It’ll pass.”

“Good. And to reassure you again since you’re not picking up nuance, you’ll be awesome as vice president, should you get the nomination, and we all survive the campaign, and you get elected, which I in no way think is a given. The survival. I’m fairly sure that if Senator McMillan thinks you’re the right choice for VP then you’re the right choice.”

Jeff smiled, pulled me to him, and kissed me. He was the best kisser in, I figured, the entire galaxy, and as always when he kissed me, I stopped thinking about anything else other than his mouth. Well, I thought about his body, too.

He ended our kiss and chuckled. “Thanks, baby. As long as you believe in me, I can do anything.”

“Glad to be of service. I’d love to suggest that we continue this part of our discussion and go rip each other’s clothes off, but we currently can’t go home.”

Jeff laughed. “I love that, no matter what the situation, your laser focus on the priorities remains intact.”

“It’s a gift.”

K
HALID WAS WAITING
for us down the hall and we rejoined the others. Everyone was eating, and I made sure Jeff got a snack, too.

While he was eating I sidled over to Reader, who was standing a little apart from everyone else. He hung up his phone as I came over. “Tim was checking in, girlfriend.”

“I wasn’t trying to see if you were calling another girl, James. But are they okay?” Looked around. “Where did Malcolm go?”

He grinned. “You’re the only girl for me, and you know it. And yes, everyone is still alive and unpoisoned. Cleanup’s going to take longer than we’d like, and Buchanan went to oversee that and to ensure all tunnels near our bases are devoid of other evil stuff. And yes, before you ask the question I see your mouth opening to ask, he’s wearing protective gear and has Field team escorts.”

“Good, good. I just like to be sure.”

“Yeah, I know. You okay?”

“Physically, yes. We were very efficiently herded here. But emotionally? Hell no. I can’t believe anyone thinks that we can have Jeff in a major campaign without a lot of nasty things we don’t want revealed to be waved at us on the six o’clock news.”

“I know. And as hard as this is to believe, everyone who’s pushing Jeff to go for the nomination knows the risks.”

“Awesome. Can’t wait for our lives to be ruined in, what, less than a month?”

He rolled his eyes “We think we can mitigate the risks, Kitty. How stupid do you think we are?”

“Not stupid at all, which is why I’m having trouble with the notion that all of you somehow don’t think that the very first thing that the paparazzi are going to uncover is that we killed Leventhal Reid.”

I could manage to say the name without shuddering, but it took effort. Reid had been, hands down, the most frightening person I’d ever dealt with in my life, and that included a lot of fugly monsters, politicians with scary delusions of grandeur, and the most cutthroat corporate raiders out there.

The last year had been nightmare filled for me because we’d discovered that the Bad Guy of Bad Guys, aka the Mastermind, had figured out how to clone people and had made a new, improved version of Reid. I’d met his sorta fourteen-year-old, rapidly-aging-to-maturity self as we were bringing down the secret research and cloning facility. And unfortunately, that clone had escaped.

As had the clone of Amy’s wicked stepmother and the Brains Behind Many Master Plans, LaRue Demorte Gaultier. She’d looked around twelve a year ago. How “old” they both were now was anyone’s guess, but my money was on mid-twenties.

Thinking about those two being out and about always made me sick to my stomach. However, thinking about their ages gave me one last straw to grasp at.

“You know, Jeff’s not thirty-five yet. So legally he can’t run.”

Reader shook his head as Chuckie joined us. “
Nice
try,” Chuckie said. “However, he’s thirty-four and a half, and he’ll be thirty-five before they would take office. So, that issue can and will be avoided.”

“I can’t believe you, of all people, are okay with this, Secret Agent Man.”

He shrugged. “Might be nice to have a truly decent person in office.”

“This wouldn’t be the first time.”

“No, but your husband is one of the few people whose motivations I actually trust.”

Considering Chuckie’s massively suspicious nature, this was high praise indeed. Under other circumstances I’d have been happy. Under this one I just wanted to find what Kool-Aid they’d all been drinking and either have some myself or, better, find the antidote and administer it to everyone before it was too late.

“Kitty,” Culver called, “you need to see this.” She was standing near the TV, Nathalie and most of the others clustered around her.

We trotted over. We watched. It was quite a show.

All of us who’d been at the protest were on screen—being shoved into the police van. The police had managed to shield Jamie from the cameras, so one small favor there. They’d gotten a great shot of Claudia trying to hit a policeman and the rest of us yelling and fighting being shoved into the police van, though. We looked like the best-dressed, most passionate hippies in the world. Go us.

“Well,” Horn said finally, “looks like you’ve made the news, ladies.”

“At least you’re not wearing linen suits anymore,” Mom said. “So there’s one small favor.”

“Serene, I thought you said that there were no feeds of us?”

“That we’d found. Checking what’s going on now.” She didn’t sound happy and was texting at hyperspeed. She stepped away.

Khalid turned the sound up. “. . . were our local aliens and their supporters only protesting the Clearly-Maurer campaign?” the voice-over asked. “Or are they laying the groundwork for Representative Jeff Martini’s bid to become Senator Vincent Armstrong’s vice presidential candidate?”

“How do the female members of our diplomatic mission being at this protest lay the groundwork for anything?” Jeff asked. “Let alone my so-called bid for vice president?”

“They’ll spin it however they want to,” Kevin said. “That’s what the news does. No offense,” he said to Oliver.

“None taken,” Oliver said with a small smile. “Particularly because you’re correct.”

“We’ll handle it,” Raj added, as the voiceover continued to question our motivations and desires. “We always do.”

“Could this get worse?” I asked everyone and no one. Right on cue, my phone rang. I was just lucky like that. Pulled it out. Not a number I knew. The fun never stopped here. “Hello?” Followed Serene’s lead and stepped away from the group and the TV.

“Is this Ambassador Katt-Martini?” A man’s voice, but I didn’t recognize it.

“Could be. Who’s this?”

Chuckie jerked, reached into his pocket, pulled out a doohickey that was a lot like the one Buchanan had used only a little while ago, and plugged it into my phone. Chose not to complain, nor to ask if I should just keep one of these plugged in 24/7.

“I’d like to get your reactions to a few developments. Are you alone?”

“This isn’t a sex line, so I don’t feel any need to answer that. And I’d like to get your name, rank, and serial number. Or I get to get your reactions to my hanging up.”

Chuckie made the “put it on speakerphone” gesture. Shook my head. Didn’t want to give my mystery caller any intel and hearing the background noises would confirm I wasn’t alone. He rolled his eyes, but made the “keep him talking” sign. Managed not to snort—I was a pro at this well before today’s Surprise Test Callers.

My latest mystery phone buddy chuckled. It didn’t sound evil, and since I’d heard a lot of evil chuckles in the last few years, felt I’d recognize one. However, while it wasn’t evil, it was something else I didn’t care for—patronizing. “I’m a friend.”

“Bullpookey. As I say every time someone tries this supersecret way of pissing me off, my friends identify themselves and I can also recognize their voices. You and I have never spoken, therefore I’m having a challenge believing the whole ‘friend’ line you’re trying to pass.”

Another chuckle. “I’m not trying to be mysterious, I just wanted to be sure it was the real Ambassador Katt-Martini I was speaking to, not a subordinate or stand-in.”

“And dialing my cell phone wasn’t enough proof?”

“No. I needed to, ah, hear your speech patterns to be sure you’re the real deal.”

“Don’t I feel all special? And yet, there you are, being your own kind of special by still not telling me who the hell you are. You have two seconds to spill your secret identity before I decide I’m bored and stop playing this game.”

Yet another chuckle. Got the impression he really thought he was charming. Chose to practice diplomacy and not tell him that he was actually insufferably annoying. “Let me stop being rude and mysterious. I’m Bruce Jenkins, Ambassador. I’m with the Washington Post.”

“Um, hi Bruce. We get the Post already.” And every other paper coughed up in or around our nation’s capital. I never read the papers, but everyone else in the Embassy seemed fond of them. “No need for the special renewal deals.”

Oliver’s turn to jerk, spin, and race over. “Bruce Jenkins?” he asked in a low voice. I nodded.

Jenkins chuckled. “I’ve heard about your sense of humor. You
are
the woman who told the British Consul that Aerosmith would take the Rolling Stones in either a battle of the bands or a battle of, I think your term was, ‘lifelong, total hotties’?”

“Um, yeah. Ages ago.” Well, a year ago. Maybe two. Or so. I tried not to keep track of the things that made me ask why I’d been given this particular job. Oliver was whispering urgently to Jeff, Chuckie and Reader, while also giving me the kill gesture. Frantically. “Bruce, what’s the point of your call? I have a life to get back to.”

“I’d like to interview you. Human interest piece.”

This was a new one. “Human interest interview?”

“Yes.”

“You want to interview me?” Oliver shook his head so hard I thought he’d break his own neck. “I don’t think that’s such a good idea.”

“Why not? Your constituents aren’t embarrassed by you, are they?”

I’d spent the start of my career in marketing and the last couple of years in D.C. and I knew a leading, trick question when I heard it. “Oh dear, the water’s boiling over! Have to call you back, Bruce, bye!” I hung up.

“This isn’t good,” Oliver said. The rest of the room had joined us.

“Did I catch this correctly? Your caller was Bruce Jenkins?” Culver asked.

“Yeah. Supposedly from the Washington Post.”

Jeff ran his hand though his hair. “Washington Post?”

“Yes,” Oliver said. “There is no ‘supposedly’ about it.”

Reader groaned. “I was really hoping you were making that up or Mister Joel Oliver was wrong.”

“MJO’s never wrong, right, Chuckie?”

Chuckie rubbed the back of his neck. “We need to call in everyone. This is going to be bad.”

“I didn’t tell him anything.”

“It won’t matter,” Oliver said. “He’ll make it up.” He shook his head. “Bruce Jenkins is the worst kind of reporter you could have interested in you.”

“He’s a bad guy?”

“Depends on your point of view,” Oliver said in a voice of doom.

“Figure you know what my point of view will be, MJO.”

“Bad? No. He’s smart, tenacious, trusted, and, worst of all, popular.”

“Um, we could play the Guess The Reason To Freak Out Game, but I’d prefer if someone would tell me why this particular popular reporter is freaking everyone out so much. No one freaked out when you, MJO, were hot on our trail, so to speak.”

“Because no one believed me,” Oliver said patiently. “However, everyone believes Bruce Jenkins.”

“I’ve never heard of him. Ever.”

“You have,” Culver said. “Only probably not by his real name.” She looked worried—The Joker Fears Batman Has Had Commissioner Gordon Call In The Marines worried. This boded.

“And that name is?”

Oliver swallowed. “The Tastemaker.”