Alien Diplomacy (46 page)

“What is this, Weird Reverse Day?” I looked closely. Somewhat unsurprisingly, it was Vance. I half-waved back. He increased his waving from “hey, pay attention to me” up to “me, me, look at me” with some “my price is right, come on down” added in. I looked over my shoulder, just in case. There was no one else he could be sort of spotting from the street. I pointed to myself as Vance did more over-the-top gestures to indicate that I was the absolute object of his focus.

“New boyfriend?” Jeff asked, jealousy meter only around a five on the scale.

“Only if pigs are flying, trust me.” I considered my options. “Why isn’t he just coming to the front door?”

Olga turned her chair and looked out. “Ah. Because we would not allow him in.”

“Not that I’m complaining about your good judgment, but why not?”

“His husband is not friendly to us.”

“Why not?”

“I honestly have no idea. Perhaps because we don’t, as I believe the Americans like to say, buy his bullshit.”

“I really like her,” I said to Jeff. “Look, stay up here. I want to go see what my not-at-all-dear friend Vance wants so much that he’s sullied himself to drop by our Embassies.” My purse was still over my neck. I checked: Poofikins and Harlie were in it. Good, ready for the next level of whatever weird action was going on.

“I’m going with you,” Jeff said.

“No. I don’t want Jamie around him, exposed, or in the slightest amount of danger if we can help it. And before you start, accept that I’ll win this particular argument.”

“Fine. Then take Reynolds.”

Chuckie shook his head. “Not a good idea. I’m not sure what he knows, and I’d prefer to keep a semblance of my cover intact.” He smiled at Olga. “At least, outside this room.”

She laughed while White finished his lemonade. “That leaves
me, Jeffrey. Other classmates already believe Kathy and I are an item.”

“Too true, Rick, honey. Let’s go make some magic happen.”

Jeff groaned. “Not this again. You love to torture me, don’t you?”

I leaned up and kissed his cheek. “Yes, because you punish me so well for it.”

W
HITE AND I TROTTED DOWNSTAIRS.
The boys were indeed guarding the stroller, while drinking lemonade and chatting it up with Adriana. I couldn’t blame them—she was a cute girl. She seemed thrilled with the attention. I had to figure she was—if Olga felt confined by the chair, what would Adriana feel like, confined because of her employer?

Our errand was explained. “You want us to come with you?” Len asked.

Part of me wanted to say yes. Then I looked at Adriana’s expression. Nothing but her eyes showed how much she wanted the boys to stay, but her eyes were pleading for it. “No, but pick a window and be ready to run out if weird taxis or other dangers appear.”

The boys nodded, and the look in Adriana’s eyes changed to relief. She led them to a window where they’d have a good view of the street.

We left the three of them stationed on Lower Level Lookout and went outside. “Plans, Missus Martini?”

“Gonna wing it, Mister White. You know, like always.”

“You do work well off the cuff.”

“I do my best work when I have no idea of what’s going on, you mean.” I glanced up. Yes, Jeff and Chuckie were on Upper Level Lookout. We were good.

“Any guess as to what your latest non-friend wants?” White asked as we headed for the sidewalk.

“Not a clue. I guarantee it’ll be weird, though. That seems to be today’s theme.”

We stopped speaking as Vance raced over to us. “Took you forever to notice me,” he snapped, as he looked over his shoulder.

“Most people trying to get my attention knock, ring the doorbell, call, or similar, Vance. So sorry I wasn’t watching for you trying to take flight on the sidewalk.”

He turned back to give me a dirty look. “I couldn’t risk going onto Romanian soil.”

“Yeah, ’cause they don’t like you.”

He jerked. “They confirmed that?”

I was really glad Chuckie had stayed upstairs. Why give him more reasons to want to strangle me? “No, I just assumed because they’re lovely people with class and manners that you weren’t their type.”

“Hilarious.” He looked at White. “Speaking of manners, were you ever planning to introduce me to your husband?”

“Not really, since he’s not here. This is my uncle by marriage, Richard White. Richard, this is Vance Beaumont. He’s married to Guy Gadoire, who’s a tobacco lobbyist.”

“Ah, one of the Dealers of Death,” White said genially. “It’s a pleasure.”

Vance rolled his eyes. “There are worse things than tobacco.” He gave White an appraising look. “Nice to see that you’ve got someone to occupy your time while your husband’s working.”

I didn’t rise to it. White seemed to feel us appearing to be having an affair was a good cover. Whether he had a brilliant reason for this or just enjoyed torturing Jeff on occasion, I couldn’t guess. “Whatever. How did you know where I was?”

“I’d been by, your house girl said you were out walking your dogs, I saw two guys who looked like bodyguards leave the Romanian Embassy walking four dogs. They took them across the street and went into your Embassy. I looked around to see if you were in one of the Embassies here. You were, I spotted you, couldn’t go in, and so I signaled you.”

I wondered if I should share that Amy was the second-highest-ranking female in our Embassy at the moment, or if I should just save it for the President’s Ball later on tonight. Saving it would have a certain satisfaction to it, as long as I warned Amy first. Without the warning, she’d knee Vance in the balls faster than he could blink.

“Gotcha. So, what’s going on, and why are you sharing it with me?”

“Do you know about Jack?”

“Yes, he offed himself, presumably not with cigarettes, so you’re off the hook on that one. You coming to tell me how distraught you are when you couldn’t have been bothered to be there for him when he might have needed you, or just coming to ensure that I know the news?”

“Neither.” Vance stepped closer. “Look, can we get out of the street?”

“Why not come into the Romanian Embassy with us?”

He gave me a dirty look. “I’m not here because I like you.”

“Thank goodness we’ve cleared
that
up. Why are you here?”

“I need your help.”

Leslie had called last night for the same reason. Why the people in my Washington Wife class felt I was their go-to girl for assistance was beyond me. “Why? And why me?”

“Why you? Because you’re not a real insider.”

“Gee, thanks for the flattery. It’s not really your forté, is it?”

Vance glared at me. “You haven’t been here long enough to have made all the compromises and alliances that would prevent you from helping me. And the why is that I need help.”

“Fine, I’ll bite. What’s going on, and why do you think I’m going to care?”

“I think Jack was murdered.”

So did I, but I wasn’t sure I should say so. I went for the smooth and noncommittal response. “Oh?”

Vance nodded. “And I’m pretty sure I’m next.”

I managed to refrain from saying that I hoped he was right. Reality said that, loathsome or not, I didn’t want Vance murdered. “Why so?”

“Because I know what Jack figured out.”

“And that is?”

“He’s right, there’s going to be an assassination attempt tonight.”

“At the President’s Ball?”

“Yes.”

“Why there?”

Vance shrugged. “Because it can’t be canceled. So the target will have to attend.”

“Do you know who the target is?”

Vance nodded and opened his mouth as White slammed into me, taking us both to the ground. So I didn’t actually see the bullets hit.

I
HEARD THE BULLETS HIT, HOWEVER.
Along with Vance screaming his head off. The sound of screeching tires was also pretty loud.

Things happened fast, as White rolled us into the street to avoid a stream of bullets. As my perspective went over and over, I saw Vance run into the Romanian Embassy, as Len and Kyle ran out, which coincided with a taxi pulling up next to us.

“Get in!” the driver shouted.

White grabbed me and flung us both inside. We landed on the floor, him still on top of me. Well, we landed on something big and furry that was lying on the floor.

The car burned rubber and drove off. The animal under me scrambled to get out of the literal dog pile. I chose to assist as fast as I could. The dog jumped onto the backseat as I got to my knees and risked a look around. The boys were running after us, guns out. Malcolm Buchanan was on the scene, also running toward us, but from Sheridan Circle Park. Unsurprisingly, he also had a gun out. It wasn’t a sniper rifle, however.

As the taxi flung itself into the Circle, I could just see Chuckie in the distance, coming out of the Romanian Embassy at a dead run. I assumed he’d had to physically restrain Jeff, for which I was thankful. Jamie was going to be a lot safer on Romanian soil right now, as opposed to out in the street where bullets were flying.

Bullets were still being sent toward us, confirming White and I were the targets, not Vance. Said bullets weren’t coming from my guys or Buchanan, which meant whoever was trying to kill us was somewhere above ground level.

“Get down!” the driver shoved at us, as he flung the car into a jerky serpentine pattern. White grabbed me and pulled me back down to the floor. The dog that I’d landed on flattened on the rear seat. “Are either of you hit?” the driver asked.

“Hi Moe, how’s it going? Curly and Larry along for this ride?” I hadn’t seen the other taxis during my short perusal of the chaos.

“I believe our driver said his name was Ishmael,” White said. “And I wasn’t hit with bullets. Missus Martini?”

“Not leaking either. Thanks for the save, Mister White.” I felt something cold and wet shove against the back of my neck. “Dude, call your Cujo off, will you?”

“Prince isn’t going to hurt you.”

I shifted so I could look Prince in his furry face. I was rewarded with a slobbery face wash. Happily, he wasn’t holding a grudge for our impromptu MMA match. “Thanks for that, Prince.” I petted his head while I searched through my purse for an acceptable dog treat.

Found a pack of teething biscuits. Jamie wasn’t really ready for them yet, but I’d been advised to have some around just in case. I gave one to Prince, who apparently felt it was a taste sensation. He finished quickly, gave me another doggy kiss, and rolled over so I could rub his tummy. I so rubbed. Make friends with the big dogs, that was my motto. “So, Ishmoe, what the hell’s going on?”

“Ishmoe? What the hell?”

“Why do you care what I call you? You haven’t told me your real name, so any name’s as good as another. I ask again, where are the rest of the Three Stooges?”

He actually laughed. “I get it now. They’re trying to find the person or persons shooting at you.” We were still driving fast, but the zigzagging had stopped. “So, what’s going on?”

“I asked you first.”

“Look, someone’s trying to kill you. Again. Tell me what’s going on so I can help you.”

“Tell us your real name first. And who you work for.” We slowed down and came to a stop. I got back up on my knees. We were at a stoplight, and no bullets seemed headed toward us. Prince rolled onto his paws and shoved his head at me. I made with the pets, then shoved Prince over and sat my butt down on the backseat, helping White up and onto the seat next to me.

“I work for people trying to protect you. And my name isn’t important.” The light changed, and we drove forward, at a normal rate of speed.

“I know your name isn’t important. I also know it’s not Ishmael
or, as much as you all resemble the Three Stooges, Moe. I want to know your damn name. Or should I be talking to Prince here instead?”

Prince hopped onto the floor, the better to get right in between us. He shoved his head at White, who wisely gave him vigorous pets.

While we were doing this, I heard what I was pretty sure was a police band radio. There was a discussion of shots being fired in the Sheridan Circle area, along with voiced concerns that the limited police force available wasn’t able to get there in time.