Universal Alien (36 page)

W
E ALL JUMPED
and spun to see, if not the last person I was expecting, certainly someone I wasn't prepared for. A rather handsome Latin man in a nice business suit was standing there, and, of course, he had a gun trained on us. He also wasn't alone—there were six men with him, all dressed like commandos. They too, naturally, had guns trained on us. Always the way.

“Esteban Cantu?”

His turn to jump. “How do you know me?”

“Ah . . . it's a really long story. What are you doing here?”

“What agency are you with?”

“You have the guns, you go first.” Presumably our bizarre garb was giving him the impression we were working for one of the Alphabet Agencies in some way. That hopefully meant no one was going to shoot us. Yet.

He flipped out his badge. “C.I.A., Department of the Inspector General.”

“Oh, you're with Internal Affairs.” That, hopefully, was a good thing.

“Yes. Your turn.”

“We're, ah—”

“With the U.S. Navy, sir,” Cox said crisply. “Office of Internal Affairs. Undercover. I'd pull out my badge, but I'm not certain your men won't try to shoot me if I do.”

“What the hell is the military doing with this level of tech? And a cat? At least, I think it's a cat—it's hard to tell the way you're all disguised. Seriously, why a cat?”

“Experimental. Trained to go where dogs can't.” Really hoped that Harlie wouldn't return right now. Explaining Stripes might work. Explaining the Poof wouldn't. “We aren't disguised, we're in experimental bodysuits. We weren't told there were other operatives here.”

“Neither were we.” Cantu sounded suspicious. Could not blame him. He was going to demand proof of what Cox had said we were, and the moment he didn't get it, we were arrested or worse.

Alfred stepped forward and took off his mask. “I can show you proof that we're with the agency we say we are, but I'd like to ensure that I'm not shot down while I do so.”

Cantu nodded. “Just don't try anything funny.”

“Oh, absolutely not.” Alfred walked over to where we had the speeders parked and uncloaked one.

Cantu jumped again, indicating that he couldn't have been watching us all that long. “What the hell?”

“It's just a light refraction cover, no big deal, the Navy's been using them for years. Let the man get our stuff so you can stop pointing guns at us.” I had no idea of what Alfred could possibly do, but I really hoped it was something effective.

“Sure it has,” Cantu muttered.

“So, while we wait in this sorta Mexican standoff, who are you after?”

“You tell me. And while you do, remove your masks so we can see that you are whoever your IDs say you are.”

Had no idea if taking off our masks was a good or a bad idea. Decided going with something of the truth might be wise. Put Stripes down between my feet. “Look, my name is Katherine Katt-Reynolds.” Took off my mask and hoped I didn't look too disheveled. Cox followed my lead. He looked a little messy but not too bad, meaning I probably looked like I'd been in a tornado. “My mother was Angela Katt, formerly of the C.I.A., just like you. So, tell me—are you investigating the man who murdered her and most of her team, or are you trying to help him finish the job?”

Cantu jerked. “You're not in covert ops.”

“No, but I'm working with the Navy because they're willing to help me find out who just blew up one of my family's homes.”

Cantu nodded. “We were advised.”

“That our house was blown up or that we were still alive?”

“Both. Your husband advised me early this morning that he and his partner, along with another operative, were the targets of a variety of assassination attempts, culminating in your house being destroyed. Which is why we're here.”

“So, where do you stand in relation to my husband?”

“I'm his boss since your mother was killed.”

Interesting. Chuckie hadn't mentioned this. Of course, I hadn't mentioned Cantu, either. In my world, Cantu was an oily bastard who'd been working with our enemies. He'd accidentally shot LaRue in the head instead of me, and he'd been murdered by the Mastermind before he could give anything away. He didn't seem like a bad guy in this world, but I had no real way of knowing, since I couldn't exactly call Chuckie to get his impressions of his boss right now. “So, you're the reason we came in from Australia so we could almost be killed several times over?”

“No. I'm the one who's investigating why your husband and his partner were given orders to return to the States that seemed to come from the Inspector General's office but, in point of fact, did not.”

“What have you so far determined?”

“Why are you at this particular estate?” Cantu countered.

Gave up. “We're trying to find where the headquarters for the head of the Corporation, as in the Cuban Mob, is located. We're pretty sure it's here. So, why are you here?”

“Because we're trying to find out what's happened to the head of the Office of Public Affairs. He was supposed to be in D.C. to welcome a Navy officer assigned to him in a PR move. The Naval officer called in sick, but no one's heard from Clifford Goodman since yesterday morning.”

“I was that officer,” Cox said. “Sent in undercover, as we said, because we suspect Goodman of treason. However, we had reason to believe that Goodman has moved up his timetable, hence, why we're here.”

Alfred returned and handed Cantu three badges. “Here you go.”

Cantu studied them. “Huh. I'm amazed, but these look legit. So, you're both consultants with the Navy?”

“Yes. The Navy was very supportive. I believe my uncle, Mortimer Katt, may have had something to do with that.” I was amazed. Cox and Alfred were lying like they'd been born to it. Cox and I being able to lie like wet rugs was one thing. But I wasn't used to the majority of A-Cs being able to lie at all, let alone this well. Either Alfred had been practicing as long as he'd been on Earth—always a real possibility—or he was a natural Liar. Had no idea which to hope for, so settled for trying not to think about it right now.

“I'm sure he did. Though why he'd want you in the line of fire, I have no idea. Fine, you check out. We have jurisdiction here, however.”

“Do we seriously have to argue about who gets to go first? I mean, dude, you didn't know how to get in without being seen any more than we did. Our scout figured it out. I say that makes us partners, at least.”

“Right. Because you know that your trained undercover cat has found the way in.”

“Do I stand here insulting your commandos? No, I do not. I don't say, ‘oh, why do we need six guys decked out like Rambo?' No, instead I say, let's work together to stop this creep before he kills anyone else. You know, like my husband and children.”

“Fine.” Cantu put his gun away and motioned for the commandos to do the same. “As I said before, you can lead us in.”

“We need to put our masks back on first. And, ah, we need help.” Looked at Alfred. Who looked at Cantu.

Who sighed. “Sure, go ahead, Doctor Martini. God forbid we'd be able to see your faces for longer than five minutes.”

“I'm flattered, but when you have nice tech from the Navy you use nice tech from the Navy.”

Alfred helped Cox and me back into our masks and ensured that everything was back where it was supposed to be. “How did you do it?” I asked him in a very soft whisper.

“I like to be prepared for every emergency, especially when I leave the tunnels,” he replied in kind. “The speeders have everything any Bond car has—those movies have been wonderfully inspiring. I hacked into the Navy's database, altered some records, and had the badges print out using the speeder's three-D printer. That's what took me so long.”

“Oh. Good plan. And nice accessory on the speeder.” What else did one say? Alfred was clearly identifying with Q from MI6 and qualified for the Genius Mad Scientist Club at the same time. Nice to have one of them on our side for once.

Cox and I re-dressed, so to speak, Cantu gave us our IDs back. “Maybe you should put these in your purse,” he said.

“Is sarcasm one of the services Internal Affairs offers?”

“Around here, yes, it is. So, Missus Reynolds, where are we going?”

It was weird to be called Mrs. Reynolds, but at the same time, it was kind of nice to have someone talking to me the way White normally did. Didn't let it make me comfortable or complacent, however. Cantu might be a good guy here, or he might be tricking us, big time.

But there was really only one way to find out. “Stripes, lead the way, please and thank you.”

He meowed, swished his body-suited tail at us, and sauntered off toward the back of the property. The rest of us followed.

S
TRIPES STOPPED
at a tree that looked like most of the other trees around here. I wasn't much of a girl for tree and plant identification, so I had no real guess for what it was. An oak, maybe. Something with lots of branches and also lots of leaves, end of winter or not. Then again, winter in Florida was a lot like winter in Arizona—a lot nicer than most everywhere else.

This tree was about fifty feet from the wall, and about a hundred away from the back gate. Stripes walked to the side that faced away from the complex and sat down.

“It's a tree,” Cantu said. “Are we supposed to climb it?”

“Stripes isn't climbing it, so no.” Looked around. Stripes felt that the entrance was obvious. He wasn't trying to be coy, but I wasn't seeing it.

“No,” Cox said. “He's sitting.” He picked Stripes up and handed him to me. “Huh. What's wrong with this picture?”

“Nothing. The ground looks normal. Covered with leaves and such, but otherwise, normal. Only . . . the tree has all its leaves, and the leaves on the ground don't match those on the tree.” Gave Stripes a nuzzle, weird masks and all. “Who's a clever boy, then? Who's gonna show the K-Nine squads what for?
You
are.”

Cantu made a gagging face while Cox felt around where the leaves were and Stripes purred up a storm. “I see why you're the feline wrangler,” Cantu said as Cox found was he was looking for and lifted up an old-fashioned trapdoor.

“I'm ignoring you, Esteban. And, it's nice to see the criminal element holding onto the old ways, isn't it? Traditions are important, after all.”

“It's dark down there,” Cox pointed out.

“And this, Esteban, is where the Navy says, ‘oh, let's let the C.I.A. feel good about themselves and lead the way.' So, you know, go for it. We'll be right behind you.”

The commandos gave me “what a girl” looks. I didn't care, and now wasn't the time to prove my independence or show that women could do anything as well as or better than men. Because what I wanted to prove was that someone else was going first, so that if there were tripwires and such, they'd spot and neutralize them before my team could get hurt.

Four commandos went first, then Cox, me, Alfred, Cantu, and the last two commandos brought up the rear. There was a stairway, made of concrete, not wood, meaning it was in good repair. It was also something I didn't want to fall and hit my head on. Once in a lifetime was enough for me.

The commandos had come almost as well equipped as my team had, so they had infrared goggles, which they put on before starting down. Cantu did as well. So while it was dark, it wasn't terrible.

The stairs went down what I guessed was about a floor and a half, and then we were on a pathway. Based on where the stairs had faced and the straightness of the path, we were heading right under the complex.

As we walked—and no tripwires were set off or anything—the suggestion that this was going far too well reared its head. I'd never been involved in a Mission or Operation that hadn't had some awful snag or two along the way. But so far, this one was going swimmingly. Meaning that something was really, really wrong.

“Be prepared,” I said softly. “Because I think we're walking into a trap.”

Cox, who was in front of me, nodded and slowed down. Alfred was behind me, and he got up closer. I was carrying Stripes, who I put into my purse, just in case. Wasn't sure if the others had heard me, or if the transistor system Alfred had on our team meant only they had heard my warning.

My brain nudged. Something Cantu had said was off. Had Cox stop walking and moved Alfred between the two of us. “Esteban, you said my husband called you this morning,” I said softly.

He motioned the two other commandos to go on around us. “Yes,” he replied in kind.

“What, exactly, did he say to you?”

“Why?”

“Humor me.”

“He said that he had proof that Cliff Goodman was a mole and had been trying to kill him and his family. He described everything that had happened. I've been investigating your mother's death for the past two and a half years—along with the deaths of most of her team. I know we have a mole, I just don't know who it is definitively. Frankly, I suspected one of your mother's team for quite a while.”

Interesting. Because, barring something appearing to Chuckie in his sleep, we had no proof at all that Cliff was a traitor. We could determine that he was, but proving this was why Buchanan hadn't solved everyone's problems already. “Malcolm Buchanan was your suspect, right?”

“Right.”

“He's not the mole.”

“Yes, based on other evidence I've found, it appears Buchanan was being set up to be the fall guy. I've found some discrepancies in Goodman's records recently, and I've been pursuing those. Charles' confirmation helped, but I've had my sights on Goodman for the past few weeks.”

“Did Charles tell you where he and the others are?”

“No, he said everyone was in a very safe place. Why?”

“Did he, by any chance, mention that I wasn't with him?”

“No,” Cantu said slowly. “He didn't. But if you were on an op, he wouldn't.”

Except that, if Chuckie trusted Cantu, he'd have told him that his wife was missing. The note I'd left for Chuckie just said I was going to follow up a lead from my side of things and that I'd be back sometime in the day and to wait for me to return before they left the Israelis. In this or any other world, I had to figure that, if Chuckie was calling his boss to share that Cliff was a murderous traitor, he'd mention that he had no idea where his wife was and that she could be in danger. Of course, there could be another reason, as well.

“Did you talk to Charles directly?”

“Yes, I did.”

“Did he sound normal?”

“No, he sounded stressed, but who could blame him?”

Chuckie didn't do stressed, as a rule. He'd learned too young to never let anyone see him sweat. I found it almost impossible to believe that he'd let his boss know he was freaked out, especially if he'd called from the safety of the Israeli Embassy. The only times I'd heard him freaked out in this world had been when the kids and I were in danger.

“Did he mention assassins or Israelis or anything of that nature?”

“Yes, on the assassins. He said you'd been run off the road, four people had attacked at your home but they'd been subdued, and that your house had been blown up. There was no mention that the assassins were Israelis.”

“They weren't Israeli, they were with the Corporation.” So he'd left out some key activities. There were two potential reasons why. One was that Chuckie didn't trust Cantu or had never called him and Cantu was making all of this up. Or someone was forcing Chuckie to call Cantu, to get Cantu into a position to be killed.

“Did you ask what he'd done with the assassins who attacked?”

“I didn't have time. We don't have long conversations when we have operatives in danger and out in the cold. He gave me the gist, I told him to head in to Langley where I have a team waiting to protect him and the others.”

“So, how did you know to come down here? Have you tracked Cliff to this location?”

“No. Charles told me about this location and said it was where I could find Goodman.”

And there it was, because there was no way that Chuckie would know about this place. My team was here because we were following what I'd call a hunch, what Mom would call my gut, and what Jeff would call my feminine intuition. But Chuckie had no knowledge of any of this. So, if he'd told Cantu to come here, it was because someone had forced him to. And that meant that Cantu wasn't a bad guy, but was a target. Made sense—if he'd been investigating what he'd said he was, then he would be someone Cliff would need to get out of the way along with the remains of my mother's team.

“Call your guys back,” I said urgently. “This is a trap.”

To his great credit, Cantu didn't argue. But as he tapped on his watch I heard a sound I was very familiar with—guns being fired.

Grabbed Cantu and Alfred, who grabbed Cox. We both took off running, toward the sounds of battle.