Alien in the House (10 page)

L
ET THAT SIT
on the air for a bit. Due to Operation Confusion, we all knew I was considered Enemy First Class by the League of Evil Super-Geniuses and Crazed Megalomaniacs. But if Hamlin knew this, too, that might mean he was telling the truth.

“Okay, Hammy. May I call you Hammy?”

“If I say no will that stop you?”

“Wow, no, it won't.”

He shrugged. “Then by all means. What should I call you?”

“Kitty will do. So, let's belay the human or android worry. We have a variety of excellent doctors on staff who can probably determine your status in a fast and safe way. Let's go back to your disappearance. You were sniffing around. Why?”

“There were discrepancies with some of the Titan Security contracts, as I said. I pulled their records, and then started looking into any business even tenuously connected to Titan.”

“And you found what?”

“Strong ties to a variety of companies. Gaultier Enterprises and their subsidiaries, the philanthropist Ronaldo Al Dejahl and his many businesses and subsidiaries, a host of other, less influential businesses. They have ties to a variety of organizations, including Club Fifty-One, which, due to your, ah, fine work, we know to be a widespread anti-alien organization. But there were plenty of others, including organizations thought to be benign.”

“The Al Dejahl terrorist organization?”

“Yes, absolutely.”

“Fabulous. So, Titan pretty much has or had less than Six Degrees of Kevin Bacon with, what, everything and everyone?”

“Pretty much, yes. Obviously, some of those connections were legitimate and not underhanded. But not all. At first I thought everything stemmed from Titan. But further digging showed that Titan was taking direction from someone else.”

“Name who you think was in charge.”

“I have no idea.” Hamlin sighed. “Antony Marling and Madeline Cartwright were both influential. I believe Madeline was the brains of their operation, however. John Cooper was definitely involved with the Al Dejahl Corporation, as was Esteban Cantu. Herbert Gaultier was in bed with all these people and many more, including the late Leventhal Reid whom I know you knew.”

Repressed the shudder thinking of Reid always gave me. “Go on.”

“And before you tell me, I know four of those people are now dead and Cantu is in a very severe form of custody, I also know you haven't learned anything useful from him.”

“How do you know that?”

“I haven't survived on the run and in hiding because I'm without survival skills, young lady. I also happen to possess computer skills.”

“You mean hacking skills.”

“I mean skills that were important in my career.”

“Colonel Hamlin was in intelligence before he took a desk job,” Buchanan said.

“Ah, so you have spy skills. Okay, works for me. So, what else did you learn, Mister Former Spy?”

“I learned that most of these activities were being protected and hidden by very high level clearances.”

“Legitimate or forged clearances?”

Hamlin shook his head. “I have no idea. I wasn't able to dig far enough before I was discovered. I can say that I expected a full military investigation over my disappearance, but I haven't been pursued or investigated by the military.”

“Not even after Operation Destruction?”

“No. There is no military investigation going on that is even remotely interested in me.”

“That's bizarre.” Thought about his wording. “But someone's after you and investigating you, right?”

“Correct.”

“My mother would be for sure, as would Chuckie. As in, the P.T.C.U. and the C.I.A.”

“It's not them. I mean, I know they're investigating me, but they're not the ones sending hit men and similar after me.”

Figured I might as well ask right now. “The Dingo, by any chance?”

“He was after me for a while. But he stopped his pursuit earlier this year.” Interesting. Wondered if that pursuit was back on. Well, I had a way to find out. But I couldn't call my “uncle” and check right now.

“Probably after you brokered that deal with him,” Buchanan said to me. He knew? How did he always know? I hadn't told Mom about that. Wondered if Buchanan had. Decided to worry about this later.

“Deal?” Raj asked.

“Not important now,” I said quickly. “What we need is to determine if we believe Hammy here, and, if we do, what we're going to do to help him.”

My phone chose this moment to ring. Dug it out of my handbag again. “Where are you?” Jeff asked, voice low. “We're about to sit down to dinner and you and Raj are noticeably absent.”

“We're not having sex, if that's what you're worried about.”

“Ha ha ha. This is me laughing about the silly reason you have for not being here yet.” Jeff didn't sound like he was enjoying this “joke.”

“Gotcha. We'll be right there. I'll fill you in once we have a moment alone.” We hung up. “Malcolm, we need to get upstairs. Raj and I in particular, but since the boys are also supposed to be at the dinner, them too. Are you okay with Hammy here?”

Buchanan didn't look happy. “I suppose.” Knew he wasn't happy being limited to the basement of the Embassy when we were going over to the Zoo.

“I'm open to other suggestions.”

“I'll come up with something, Missus Chief. You head off and be diplomatic. Don't spill anything on your dress.”

“
Just
when I was starting to feel for you, Malcolm. Hammy, we'll be back, um, somewhere in the nearish future. Please give Malcolm whatever other information you have so we can get rolling on your problem sooner as opposed to later. You should be safe in here.”

“I hope so. Ambassador,” he said as I turned to leave, “I know you want to share this with others. Please don't. You have friends who could be the Mastermind.”

“You mean Chuckie.” Controlled the anger, but it was difficult.

“I do mean Mister Reynolds. I also mean Cliff. Sadly, I also mean your mother. While none of them are at the top of my suspects list, they're all positioned well enough and, most importantly, brilliant enough to be doing this.”

“My mother isn't trying to kill me at every freaking turn.”

“I'm sure she's not. But you need to be thinking in this way. Whoever is behind all of this, and it's a vast network of conspiracies and threats, is someone unsuspected, because none of the people I named have the slightest idea who was pulling their strings.”

“Okay. I don't like it, but I understand what you're saying.” Knew Jeff was waiting beyond impatiently, but had to ask one last question. “What about Leventhal Reid? Was he unaware?”

“I don't know,” Hammy answered slowly. “He's been dead long enough that I didn't spend as much time on him as I did some of the others.”

“Huh. Well, if there was ever a man who wanted to perpetrate evil on the world for grins and giggles, it was him.”

“We'll go over it, Missus Chief. Head off before your husband tries to kill all of us out of jealous frustration.”

“I don't think it's jealousy right now, Malcolm, so much as my current and total entertaining failure.”

“We'll fix that,” Raj said confidently.

Buchanan, Len, and Kyle all exchanged a look that said they didn't believe this was possible.

“I currently like Raj more than all of you. Put together.”

Buchanan grinned. “Then I'll make a note to expect the Junior Ambassador to become the new focus of Mister Chief's jealousy in about five minutes from now.”

O
N THAT NOTE
of potentially prescient doom, Raj, the boys, and I left. I took Len's hand, Raj grabbed Kyle, and we used the slow hyperspeed to get to the walkway section on the second floor. The boys only gagged a little when we stopped.

“Good job, Kitty,” Len managed. “We didn't overshoot or hit a wall or anything.”

“Christopher's been making me practice.” A lot. And I was doing it because these days he was at Evil Personal Trainer From Hell levels. But it had paid off all day today, so that was one in the semi-win column.

We walked quickly down the corridor. It was nicely done, very sturdy, with bulletproof glass on either side, so you could look out onto the street and Sheridan Circle without the risk of a sniper killing you—a design perk I personally appreciated.

Both ends of the corridor could also be sealed off, again with strong doors whose windows had bulletproof glass. We might not be housing in the Bunker district of D.C., but we were going to ensure that we couldn't be easily overrun or overtaken.

The Zoo's street level was where our animals “housed” when they were on display. Because we'd had to gut and redo most of this building, we'd actually left the second floor as mostly open space with a full, top-of-the-line and giant kitchen, as well as a whole bank of bathrooms. Per A-C regulations, only one stall had a gate in it.

The fourth floor was for extra Embassy personnel and staff, as needed. Some on a rotating basis, some, like the A-Cs assigned to walk our dogs, were sticking around until they could score a better job. The fifth floor now housed Hacker International, along with their fantastic state-of-the-art computer center and our stationary floater gate, which was much less of an oxymoron than Military Intelligence.

Stairs were the only option from the first floor to the second floor. A-Cs could all move faster than any elevator, and we didn't want the general public having easy access to the upper levels. Once on the second floor, however, there were two elevators that handled the rest of the floors. We waved to the A-Cs and humans on food prep duty—I chose not to ask what world famous chef was shouting orders at everyone as we went by—and got into one of said elevators.

Pierre had set things up so that we could alter the second floor any way that we needed or wanted to. However, he'd also ensured the third floor would be a showcase.

The elevator doors opened and for a moment I wasn't sure if Jamie had had a hand in the decorations. The place glittered, though it wasn't glittering in pink, so that was one small one for the win column.

The floors were shiny marble; the walls were covered with fine art interspersed with fine sculptures. We had a blown glass ceiling filled with celestial bodies, including a glass bas-relief of the Alpha Centauri system.

I was used to all of this, though I still questioned the wisdom of these very expensive, very breakable things being housed in the Zoo. But Pierre insisted that's what insurance was for.

For tonight's festivities, Pierre had added small, white, twinkling lights all over the place. It was like stepping into a fairyland.

A fairyland that was doubling as the Correspondents' Dinner Lite. We'd discussed it, and while one long table sounded extremely royal, common sense said that round tables seating ten would probably be more practical. So the third floor looked like the prettiest, glitteriest convention ballroom ever.

Jeff was at the very far end of the room, naturally. Pierre had the room laid out like an obstacle course, too. It was impossible to go in a straight line from the elevator to any table beyond about one. There were a lot of people to get past and tables to wind through before I could reach my husband and my seat.

We'd assigned Embassy and Centaurion Division personnel to each table, so our team was spread out, some with only their spouse or date, some with a wingman, but none of the tables were all A-C only.

“We're going to weave through, being sure to hit every table,” Raj said quietly to me. “Len, Kyle, once we're talking to the first table, you two find your seats.” The boys looked at me.

“Why?” I didn't want to hit every table. I wanted to get to my husband, smile, and not spill anything on me or anyone else.

“We're late so you have an opportunity to say hello to everyone you might have missed at the reception. Trust me, this will ensure no one minds that they're waiting for you.”

“Works for me. Boys, do what Raj says.”

“You'll thank me later,” Raj said with a chuckle. With that, he put on a beaming smile, offered his arm, which I wisely took, and we stepped out.

First table was headed by Tito and Abigail, who had a bunch of people I didn't know with them. They were also sitting across from each other, presumably so they could cover more diplomatic ground. This boded, and not well, for where I was going to end up sitting. Whenever we reached my seat. Did a fast count of the number of tables in the room. It was gonna be a while before Raj or I sat down.

“So sorry we were delayed,” Raj said to the guests at this table. “Ambassador Katt-Martini wanted to ensure that the dinner will be perfect.”

I smiled brightly. “It will be. Chef says all's well in hand and you're going to love the meal.” It was a safe bet that whoever was running things went by the term and I could get away without saying a last name, indicating the sex of the unnamed kitchen whiz, or sharing I had no idea who was actually in charge downstairs.

The guests all beamed right back, Tito nodded, and Abigail gave me a thumbs-up where no one could see. Apparently I was, for once, getting Good Wife and Ambassador Points. I decided that I loved Raj.

We snaked our way through the room, never missing a table, laughing and chatting with everyone along the way. Raj ensured he was never more than one person away from me, so he was always nearby to fix any slips. By midway through the room we'd passed the majority of the guests I didn't know at all or know well.

Which meant we were getting closer to the people I did know and who would, therefore, be not only watching me closely but be ready to comment on any mistakes I might make. Goody.

My parents were hosting folks from the Bahraini and Israeli Embassies, or as I preferred to call them, my Middle Eastern Contingent. To the rest of the room, this was a high-pressure assignment filled with diplomatic intricacies, and any missteps would result in, at best, another war in the Middle East.

In reality, these people all got along now, in great part because of how Operation Destruction had gone down. In other words, Mom and Dad had scored the cool table with no actual stress or pressure involved. Wondered if it was too late to ask to sit with my parents. Figured it was. Always the way.

I kissed my mother on her cheek, and did the same with Mona Nejem, the wife of the Bahraini ambassador, and someone who was now second only to Olga in terms of ambassadorial spouses I loved and trusted.

Got introduced to Mona's husband, as well as the Israeli ambassador and her husband. Khalid was next to Mona—he was to her as Buchanan, Len, and Kyle were to me. Oren and Jakob were here, too, as was a young woman I'd never met before who, like them, looked to be in her mid-twenties.

Leah was sitting between Oren and Jakob, so I assumed she was with the Israelis, and, therefore, with Mossad, just like they were. We had the head of the P.T.C.U., Bahraini Army, and Mossad representing, all sipping their water and fruit juice cocktails while at the same time keeping their eyes on every part of the room. This was, without a doubt, the safest and deadliest table we had.

Len and Kyle were at a nearby table with Olga and the rest of the Romanian Embassy personnel and some of our closer neighbors. As with my parents, they had a low-stress table. Same with Lorraine and Claudia, who, with their husbands, were each hosting nice people at their tables and apparently having a great time.

Lorraine and Claudia were Dazzlers, which was what I called the female A-Cs, at least to myself. They were also both Captains in Centaurion Division and as such, I'd have thought they'd have been closer to the head table. That they weren't was disappointing for me—they were my best A-C girlfriends and some days it felt like I never saw them any more.

“You look guilty about something,” Lorraine said quietly when I gave her a hug.

“Do not.”

“Well, not to regular people. But I know you and I want the scoop the minute we can be alone.”

“Will do.” Guiltily scurried off to Claudia's table.

“What are you up to?” Claudia whispered as we hugged. “You look like you're ready for something to happen. Do we need to take a bathroom break?”

“Yes, but not right now.” I extracted myself as fast as possible. Dazzlers really had it all in terms of beauty and brains, Lorraine and Claudia especially. I knew I could trust them completely with everything that was going on. And the idea of telling them what and who I'd seen today was appealing. Only I couldn't do so here and now.

Tim and his wife, Alicia, had a lot of Top Brass types, including Colonel Franklin from Andrews Air Force Base and his wife, sitting with them. The three single flyboys and their Dazzler dates were also running really fun tables. None of them asked me what I was hiding or feeling guilty about, either. I was willing to hang out in this section of the room for hours.

Sadly, Raj wasn't having any of that, and moved us on to our next stops. And our next ones. And on and on.

Interestingly enough, the Cabal of Evil was spread out at different tables, which I guess meant the evil was somewhat contained. Chuckie and Naomi had scored sitting with Joker Jaws and Abner, Monsieur Love and Vance, and some normal people I knew from our neighborhood. Lifelong friendship or not, wasn't sure if Chuckie was going to forgive me for this setup, even though I'd had nothing to do with the seating plan.

“How's things going?” I asked Naomi quietly as I gave her a hug.

“Okay. Do I have to invite these people to my wedding?”

“Probably.”

She grimaced as I moved toward Chuckie. “You owe me,” he whispered in my ear as I bent to give him a hug. “Big time.” Yep, not forgiving me for this one.

“Blah, blah, blah. Duty calls.” I raced off to catch up with Raj—who was moving us on to the next stop—before Chuckie could note my looking guilty or something.

We were closing in on the head table. It had only taken what seemed like forever.

Doreen and Irving were at a table sort of in front of the head table loaded with presidential Cabinet members and their significant others, including Marion Villanova, who was the chief aide to the secretary of state, and Langston Whitmore, who was the secretary of transportation.

Villanova and Whitmore, who were both closeted, had been duped into having romantic relationships with two of Antony Marling's best androids. They'd made the best of the loss of their creepy significant others and were now “dating” each other. In Washington, this was considered a brilliant strategic move and they were the new Power Couple. I figured they might even get married.

While neither one had ever been my favorite person, for the most part, we'd gotten along in that Smile and Bob Heads from a Distance way. And Villanova still seemed content with this.

Whitmore, however, gave me a dirty look. Had no idea why, unless maybe he was hungry. “I'm sorry about the delay, Secretary Whitmore,” I offered, in the hopes that he'd stop glaring. He wasn't up to Christopher's standards at all. “We just want to be sure everything's great.”

“That's the line you people like to use all the time, isn't it?” he replied.

“Yes,” Raj said, as he took my elbow. “We at American Centaurion like to do the best we possibly can.” He shot the table a beaming troubadour smile and headed us off quickly. Tabled concerns about what Whitmore's damage was for later.

Christopher and Amy were at the table on one side of the head table, along with White and Nurse Magdalena Carter, aka White's main squeeze and our Embassy staff nurse. Tito being at the back table now made a little more sense—with Lorraine and Claudia in the room, we had medical personnel spread throughout the floor. Always a wise choice for us.

Christopher's table was holding court with politicians from Arizona and New Mexico I didn't know personally. I'd met too many people, my stomach was beginning to grumble, and my feet were starting to hate being in heels—the names were one long blur which nicely matched the faces, which were also blurry. Hoped I wasn't giving off the same vibe as Whitmore and focused on smiling. Thankfully, I'd gotten really good at saying, “Chef says you're going to love what's coming.” It seemed to suffice.

Reader and Gower were at the table on the other side, with Cliff, the Kramers, Eugene and Lydia, and Serene Dwyer. Alone. Without her husband, who, as I thought about it, I hadn't seen anywhere.

“Where's Brian?” I asked her quietly as I gave her a hug.