Alien vs. Alien (37 page)

CHAPTER 66

“W
HO?” THIS WAS CHORUSED
by everyone in the room other than Colonel Franklin. Even by Naomi and Abigail. Interesting. Out of everyone, I’d have thought Chuckie would have shared this bit of intel with them. Apparently not. But then again, he’d told them to come to me in this type of emergency.

I got myself under control. “Stryker Dane is probably the most famous conspiracy theorist going. He’s the guy who writes the
Taken Away
books. About his being abducted by aliens and taken to their world for experiments, that sort of thing. I think there are like ten books in the series, maybe more. He also runs a pretty popular website and an even more active blog. Kind of an underground celebrity.”

“Oh, him.” Tito nodded. “I think he’s done book tours that came to Vegas. I never went. But why is that funny? I mean, you were laughing like a hyena.”

“Pardon me. I just find Chuckie’s sense of humor funny.”

“How does this have anything to do with Reynolds, in that sense?” Buchanan asked.

“It’s a message from him. I don’t know why Stryker’s down as the next guy on the list, but I have a guess.”

“At the edge of our seats, so to speak,” White said.

“Chuckie must have been able to influence what went into his part of this briefing book. And Colonel Hamlin wasn’t someone he trusted or liked.”

“So?” Franklin was stepping onto the impatience wagon.

I resisted the urge to sigh. “Stryker Dane is from Arizona.” I waited. No looks of comprehension. “Chuckie’s the Conspiracy King.” Still nothing. Maybe they were all too worried about Jeff and Chuckie and the impending space invasion to make the connection. “He knows Stryker. Very well. And trusts him, more than most of those he deals with on a daily basis.”

“He trusts a nut job?” Oren asked.

I coughed. “Have you not been paying attention? I mean, I realize you all got dragged into this sort of unexpectedly, but still. Aliens exist.”

Jakob shrugged. “We’ve heard certain rumors already, so finding out about what American Centaurion really is, that’s not that much of a shock. But those
Taken Away
books . . . they’re all full of sh—” He looked at Mona. “Untruths.”

She chuckled. “I’ve heard the word. And used it. More than once. But Jakob does have a point, Ambassador. Those books are works of fiction.”

“Yeah, they are. Because Stryker’s a great fiction writer. But, ah, well, he’s also not exactly wrong. And he’s very pro-alien.”

“You think.” Buchanan didn’t sound convinced.

“No, I
know
.” More blank looks, other than from Oliver, who looked both like he believed me and that one of his greatest dreams was coming true. “Gang, really. I’ll say it slowly. Chuckie’s been my friend since ninth grade. My best guy friend since we were thirteen. We went to high school and college together.” Blank looks that indicated annoyance was coming up fast. I gave in to the urge to sigh heavily. “I know Stryker. Personally.”

“Great.” Tito didn’t sound as though he meant it. “So what are we supposed to do? Race to Arizona, dig out the head wacko, and ask him for help?”

“No. We’re going to make a phone call and then probably drive over to see him.” The blankness in the room was awe-inspiring. “He lives here now. He’s made a good living off those books.”

“You keep in touch with him?” Buchanan seemed to be trying to channel Jeff, just to keep me on my jealousy toes. Oliver, meanwhile, was salivating. I was sort of surprised that he didn’t know Stryker personally, but then again, I knew Stryker, and Stryker trusted fewer people than Chuckie did.

I couldn’t hold out any longer and rolled my eyes. “I keep in touch with Chuckie, to put it mildly. Chuckie keeps in touch with Stryker. The page our friend the Colonel is looking at is there solely for a situation such as this—why would anyone, ever, read that gut buster otherwise? Something’s gone wrong, we don’t know what to do, so pull out the big book and see what’s in there. Chuckie wants Stryker contacted either because he’s briefed Stryker on something or because said contact will alert Stryker to something he has to do for Chuckie.”

“You’re sure, Missus Martini?” At least White didn’t look annoyed.

“Pretty darned.” I pulled my cell out of my purse and found the number on speed dial. The number Chuckie had insisted I program in right after Operation Confusion. I let the phone ring three times, then hung up. Then let it ring twice and hung up. Then three, two, four, and then one.

“What in God’s name are you doing?” Buchanan asked.

“Secret ring code.”

“So, Reynolds wants us to contact a lunatic. Great, just great.”

“One man’s loon is another man’s head of the Extra-Terrestrial Division of the C.I.A., let me just say.” Dialed again. This time, I let it ring.

Phone was picked up on the fifth ring. “Hello?”

“Eddy! How’s it going, big guy?”

“Kitty? Is that you?”

“In the conspiratorial flesh, so to speak.”

“What are you doing, using the secret password?”

“Chuckie gave it to me.”

“Why are you using my real name?”

“Because I can. We’re at DEFCON Worse, well, really, DEFCON Oh My God, and for some reason, Chuckie’s left instructions that when he’s incapacitated, you’re the man for the job.”

“What’s happened to Chuck?” He sounded suspicious and more than a little scared. Some things never changed.

“He’s disappeared. Along with my husband. And, no, they’re not gay. I think they’ve been kidnapped. Sort of.”

“Taken from the solar system?”

“Not that we can tell.”

He was quiet. “Is Chuck in danger?”

“Dude, what part of kidnapped and cannot find didn’t register the first time?”

“Are you in danger?”

“Currently in danger of freaking out about the whereabouts of my husband and oldest friend. Otherwise, no. The moment I leave this building? No guess.” Now wasn’t the time to mention the impending invasion. I knew Stryker far too well, and we clearly needed his help.

“Am I in danger?”

“If you don’t freaking tell me why Chuckie has you down as the go-to man, you’re in danger of me coming over there and kicking your butt in a serious and nasty fashion. Otherwise? No clue. You still dating that chick with all the piercings?”

“No, we broke up. Years ago,” he added resentfully.

“Good choice on your part.”

“She dumped me.”

“You never learned how to do the spin, did you?”

“Is this relevant?”

“Just wanted to know if I had to warn the people with me not to make eye contact with your, ah, lady friend.”

“No current lady friend, so they’re fine. What people?”

“Good friends. Eddy, I feel no closer to knowing why Chuckie wanted you contacted in this kind of emergency. Do you remember how I used to get when you would try to be all mysterious with me?”

He coughed. “Yeah. So, what’s the plan, Kitty?”

“No clue. That’s why I called you. You are listed as the person to call when we have lost Chuckie. Ergo, I am calling. Ball’s in your court.”

He was quiet again. I let him sit there in silence. Stryker was good at it, ˀbut I’d been trained in how to sell—and one of the top five rules of selling was that whoever talks first after the offer has been made loses. I just gave Bellie some bird treats that White had on him and gave Bruno a good scritchy-scratching between his wings. It took three and a half minutes by my random count, but he finally sighed. “Fine.”

“Excellent. We coming to you or are you coming to us?”

“You know I don’t leave the bunker.”

“Dude, you write published books. You have an agent and so forth. You leave the stupid bunker all the time. Stop acting. Two of the most important men in my life are missing and believed to be in life-threatening danger. Stop making me want to take out my fear and worry on your person.”

“You do and I won’t tell you how to get here.”

I snorted. “Dude, seriously. Ask yourself—between the two of us, who does Chuckie both like and trust more?”

He was quiet again for a long minute, then started cursing up a blue streak. “He told you where I am?”

Well, not so much, but I knew better than to admit it. “And gave me your number, and the secret code, and all that jazz.” Stryker kept on ranting. “Eddy! Enough with the blah, blah, blah. Focus! You here or us there?”

“Where is your there, exactly?”

“Andrews Air Force Base.”

There was a significant pause. And then an embarrassed clearing of the throat. And then another cough.

“Eddy, what don’t you want to admit? Surely you know how to get to Andrews.”

“Oh, yes. I know.”

I looked at Franklin. He was flipping through another book, smaller than the Encyclopedia Centaurion. He felt me looking at him and looked up. “I don’t find a Stryker Dane.”

“Try Eddy Simms.”

“Kitty, you’re under oath not to reveal my true identity!”

“Eddy, dude, you are not Superman. But, just to make you feel better, I’m kinda Wolver
ine. With boobs, of course.”

“Of course. They still nice and perky?”

“Dude, Chuckie and my husband both will break your neck if you ask me that question again.”

“He always was jealous.”

“My husband? Yeah, how’d you know?”

“I meant Chuck. Told me you were his and I was never allowed to make a move.”

I managed to refrain from sharing that in the Possible Alternatives to Jeff Olympics, Stryker’s chances were slimmer than the Jamaican bobsled team’s and let this one go. Sent a mental thank you to Chuckie for preventing an embarrassing and beyond gross situation in the past. Figured I’d handle the upcoming one with more grace and style than when I was younger—I had a lot of extra muscle with me.

Franklin cursed quietly. “Here it is. Edward Simms. Chrˀist.” He stood up. “Let’s go.”

“Be there shortly, Eddy.”

“Kitty, I’m not prepared to receive visitors!” He sounded panicked.

“Pity. ’Cause I’m coming right now.” I looked at Franklin’s expression and felt I had all the confirmation I needed. “With a bunch of tough guys . . . and your boss.”

CHAPTER 67

I
HUNG UP AND DROPPED
my phone in my purse. “I’m assuming we can walk it, Colonel?”

He nodded. “Yes. The ‘bunker’ is close by.” Franklin looked seriously pissed.

“Do we want everyone to go?” White asked.

I considered. “I think we can use the addition of the skills, experience, and mindset of the Bahraini Royal Army, and that goes double for Mossad. Ambassadress, are you up for it?”

“Absolutely, Ambassador. As long as you call me Mona.”

“Works for me, and call me Kitty. Everyone else I feel is needed, Mister White. Unless you think we need someone protecting Colonel Franklin’s office or the gate within.”

“It’s been secure all this time,” Franklin said. “I believe we can leave it.”

I wasn’t so sure, but this was Franklin’s call, not mine.

“I actually was wondering if you wanted to leave the parrot and Mister Joel Oliver,” White said dryly.

“Oh. MJO, I’m betting wild horses wouldn’t keep you away.”

“Correct as always, Ambassador. I’ll do my best to keep the lovely Miss Bellie quiet.”

Bellie nuzzled up against him. “Bellie likes Mister!”

“Bellie, you cheap slut. What is Jeff going to think when he sees you cheating on him?” I hoped he’d think that Bellie needed to stay with Oliver, but I doubted my luck would be that good.

Franklin stalked out, and we all trotted after him like a flock of really big ducklings. We were headed up the road, so to speak, but on a path that led us behind some buildings. They all looked military and official to me, and I tried to spot landmarks, in case we had to run back to Franklin’s office. However, all I came up with was that military bases really looked a lot alike—dull. If I got lost, I’d call Mom—she’d undoubtedly been here before and had the entire layout memorized.

Unfortunately, I had time to think but didn’t feel that speaking aloud was a good idea when we were out in the open, so to speak. Which meant I stressed about Jeff and Chuckie. Interstellar invasions were the big picture, sure, but people I loved dearly were in much more immediate danger. This wasn’t helping. Focused on getting to Stryker. If nothing else, I could take out the΀ fear and worry by kicking him.

We reached a boring looking building, which was saying a lot, all things considered. Based on my Inverse Boredom Rule—which said the more boring a building looked, the more vital and secret its function—we were heading into Super-Duper High-Security Clearance Territory.

Franklin ushered us inside, then took us downstairs. Down a lot of stairs and a lot of levels. We walked it, instead of taking an elevator, which I found interesting. I knew Stryker well, and, frankly, the idea of him taking stairs, ever, was kind of farfetched. More farfetched than what was going on with the rest of the galaxy right now, as I thought about it.

“Colonel, why are we taking the stairs instead of the newfangled elevator?”

Franklin shook his head. “Stairs are safer.”

“Security is breached,” Oren said.

“How so?”

“You don’t lose a colonel without something being wrong,” Jakob replied. “Let alone everything else we now know about.”

“It’s easy to trap and kill people in an elevator—they have nowhere to go,” Khalid added.

“We could get trapped on the stairs, too.”

“We could. However, most of us have weapons with us, and from what we’ve seen, some of you appear to be living weapons. We have a far better chance of survival on the stairs than in an elevator.” The way Oren said this, I figured that the Mossad had done various tests and studies, or the U.S. had, and they were all confident the results were accurate.

“He’s correct,” Franklin said.

“Fine, not arguing with my military advisors.”

“Missus Martini, you’re learning the diplomacy-speak so well.”

“Mister White, be careful with the sarcasm or I’ll start calling you Rick again.”

White chuckled. “I expect that within fifteen minutes, regardless of whether I use sarcasm or not.”

“Good point.” I refrained from asking what attacks everyone was expecting. Better prepared for anything than caught unawares because we were prepped for nothing.

We reached the bottom, finally, and Franklin led us down a long hallway with no doors at all except in the far distance.

“Colonel, sorry to be asking and all, but this sure seems like a bunker to me.”

“It is and it isn’t.” Franklin was great on the no information right now.

“How secure is it should, say, someone bomb the base?”

“Secure.”

“So it’s a bunker.”

“Not in the classic sense.”

“I love that we’re already good enough friends that we can play verbal gymnastics while trying to thwart an alien invasion. Where, exactly, are we going?”

“To one of the most classified, and secured, areas on base.”

We reached the doors. They had the usual “Authorized Personnel Only” signs and a lot of security doohickeys to get past. While Franklin slid his badge through the reader, typed in a series of codes on the keypad, and pulled out his keys, I listened at the door.

I could have sworn I heard the sounds of furniture being moved, quiet cursing, and similar. I’d have been worried, but it sounded familiar—I was pretty sure I’d sounde
d like this any time my parents had unexpectedly suggested they drop by for a visit when I lived in my old apartment. The A-C Elves ensured this scramble was a thing of my past, but I still remembered it vividly.

Franklin opened the door and we were greeted to an interesting sight. It resembled the Centaurion Command Centers—lots of computers, lots of TV screens, lots of official looking stuff. Lots of sound, too, coming from what looked like radio equipment and funky EKG machines.

But there were only a handful of guys in here, and none of them resembled military, let alone A-Cs. No uniforms, no neat and clean, no high and tights, no total hotness. Heavy emphasis on the no neat and clean, or at least not tidy. I wasn’t interested in doing a white glove test, but the clutter factor in here was scary high.

Sniffed carefully. Someone had sprayed a ton of Febreeze around. Thankfully.

I’d been right; they were frantically trying to straighten up. Franklin’s expression—barely controlled fury—told me they weren’t succeeding. However, I had to figure they hadn’t been hired for their military acumen or their ability to get a quarter to bounce on their beds.

White was taking in the scene as well. “Colonel, as Missus Martini asked, where specifically are we, exactly?”

Franklin didn’t need to answer—I already knew. “Gang, welcome to Hacker Central.”