Universal Alien (38 page)

E
VALYNE AND PHOEBE
exchanged a look. “With you,” Evalyne said, as they both stepped across the invisible line Singh had created when he'd searched the agents. “For all the reasons you named and one more—the agents who were murdered were our friends, and I'll be damned if I'm going to help the man who intentionally sent them to their deaths.”

The other agents stepped across, one by one. The first one, the one who'd asked why Goodman would have done what he did, was the last man standing on the other side. “I want proof, not speculation, before I make the decision to betray my official orders.”

“This is the Vice President of the United States,” Phoebe said. “He overrules someone at Homeland Security.”

“It's a legitimate request,” Martini said. “But, we have no proof. Only the connection of events taken to their logical conclusion. I know you're new to the team, Sam, but we want to get the proof you want. Will you help us?”

The agent relaxed. In fact, he'd relaxed when Martini had said that we had no proof. “Sure.”

It was one thing to trust. But if your entire demand in order to give that trust was proof, relaxing when the confirmation of no proof was given was a contrary reaction. Malcolm wasn't here. I wasn't sure if anyone else would listen to me. But had to give it a shot. “Stop him, he's working for Goodman.”

Everyone gaped at me. Everyone other than Christopher. He moved faster than I could blink, grabbed Sam's arms, and pulled them behind his back. Sam struggled, but he wasn't going anywhere. “What the hell? Is this how you killed everyone else?”

“Note that he thinks we killed those agents. Or else he's spouting the party line. But he's not on our side.”

“He didn't show as having any bugs or overlays,” Singh said, sounding uncertain.

“And I didn't feel anything wrong from him beyond suspicion and some fear,” Martini added.

“If he's focused on fooling you, maybe he can.”

“Or he swallowed an emotional overlay,” Amy suggested. “I don't think the detectors can tell if one of those things is ingested.”

“Good point. Search him again, please,” Martini asked Christopher. “The old fashioned way, this time.”

Len and Kyle held the agent while Christopher frisked him. “Nothing.”

“Let's see his wallet,” Crawford said. “And any other papers he might have on him. Just in case.”

Christopher looked through the wallet at hyperspeed. At least I assumed so, because I couldn't see anything his hands were doing, but suddenly he had a card in one hand and a seriously pissed expression. “It's a Club Fifty-One membership card.” He handed it to Martini. Who looked ready to kill. Couldn't blame him.

“The only people who have those are our enemies,” Martini said, voice like ice.

“We pointedly screened for anti-alien sentiments,” Phoebe said.

“Clearly not well enough,” James said. “I'd like Christopher to go through the rest of your wallets, badges, and similar. That's not exactly a request, by the way,” he added with a smile that was a lot more feral than cover boy.

“Agreed,” Evalyne said, as she produced her wallet. The others followed suit.

Christopher took just a few seconds. “No one else has anything anti-us on their person.” He smiled at me. Nice to know he knew how. “Good catch, Kitty.”

“It's what I'm here for.” Literally, as near as I could tell.

Christopher gave everyone back their things, then Evalyne produced handcuffs and cuffed the agent. “What do we do with him? Until we have the proof we lack, I can't turn him over to Homeland Security.”

“We have holding cells at Dulce,” Singh said.

“I wouldn't send him there.” Everyone looked at me. Heaved a sigh. “That just puts an enemy into the center of your operations. He needs to be locked up, I'll give you that, but not where, should he escape, he can cause more havoc.”

“It's a good point,” Martini said. “We have no idea what Sam's training or mission might actually be.”

“Let's hope that no one else swallowed one of those things, because Amy's suggestion sounds right.” Waited. Saying something nice about Amy didn't kill me. Amazing.

“We haven't, but all you have is our word,” Evalyne said. The other agents nodded. Most of them looked seriously upset, but not with us, so that was a nice change.

“I think we can trust them,” Martini said to me quietly. “Especially since I can feel all of them, and their emotions switched in a way the emotional blockers and enhancers don't seem able to mimic. The rest of them have been with us for months and have never done anything but be incredibly loyal and put up with us.”

“One small favor. I'll take it.”

“Where are we going to stash him?” Serene asked. “Like Jeff said, Kitty has a good point, but we normally use Dulce's incarceration facilities.”

Felt something feathery nudge my leg and looked down. Bruno looked at me and winked slowly. “Ah, why don't we tie him up and leave him here, under Peregrine guard?”

“That works,” Christopher said. “Kevin and I will keep him and the birds with us. The Peregrines will claw him up if he manages to get free.”

Bruno indicated that he'd been going to Australia because of Sam, and that he and the rest of the flock looked forward to clawing Sam up if he didn't cooperate with the authorities. Worked for me, but I decided not to share this information with anyone else.

“We can do some interrogation, too,” Amy added. She didn't sound like the questioning would be pleasant.

Plan agreed to, Christopher and Amy decided they'd take the prisoner off instead of seeing us all the way to whatever gate we were going to. Kevin Lewis joined them before we all separated. I'd sort of met him during the gigantic info dump that everyone seemed to think I'd managed to memorize, but now that I saw him up close and personal I realized he was someone I knew in my world—he'd been over to my parents' house when I was younger. He was a gorgeous black guy with at least as much charisma as Martini.

“I'll advise Angela,” he said once the situation was explained. “If she wants to take him, we'll let the P.T.C.U. enjoy themselves. Until then, we'll handle it. You guys go off and be diplomatic.”

Kevin then helped Christopher with the prisoner—Sam hadn't been too much for Christopher, but got the feeling they were muscling him around to prep him for a Good Cop/Bad Cop/Amy Cop routine. Worked for me.

The rest of us got into the elevator. In shifts. Because there were a lot of people in the entourage. Each elevator shift had an A-C in it, presumably because no one felt too confident in the Secret Service all of a sudden.

Martini, Jamie, and I were in the first group to go up, but that just meant that we got to hang out and wait for the others to join us. Nothing untoward happened, which was a nice change of pace.

“Remember,” Martini said to me in a low voice as we waited outside a door that said Computer Center, “you have to control your reactions.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” Had no idea why he was acting weird about Stryker, but I'd handle it, whatever it was.

The last part of our group arrived and Martini opened the door. We entered what appeared to be a very large, very high-tech computer center, just like the door had indicated. It was a little reminiscent of the Bat Cave at the Science Center, but it wasn't bustling with gorgeous people.

Well, that wasn't quite accurate. Charles, Richard, and Malcolm were in here, so handsome to gorgeous was covered. There were also two people in the room who were clearly A-Cs, a man and a woman, and they looked like they were siblings, too, and clearly a part of the Gorgeous Contingent. Amadhia and Aaron were also here, having an animated conversation with Richard and Malcolm, and helping to support the Good-Looking Human side of the house.

The others, however, were not the most impressive specimens of manhood ever seen. I vaguely remembered who most of them were—Charles and I had met them at Stryker's place a few times. But I hadn't given any of them any thought in years, possibly because Stryker and Charles never mentioned them these days.

However, as a guy with unkempt but still somehow nice hair, manboobs, an unkempt and unattractive beard, dirty shorts and an even dirtier Star Trek T-shirt turned around, I now understood why Charles had been worried and Martini had spent so much time prepping me.

This wasn't the Stryker I knew. Well, that wasn't quite true. This was indeed the Stryker I'd
known
. I just thought I'd gotten rid of him eight years ago.

A
T HYPERSPEED
it didn't take us too long to reach the commandos. They were pinned down at the end of this long corridor, on either side of a concrete doorway. We chose the side with the two commandos, versus four, and got out of the way.

“Who's shooting at you?” I asked the commando nearest me.

“Not who, what.”

Risked a look to see an impressively large Gatling gun surrounded by smaller versions, all shooting at the doorway, apparently without anyone there to fire them.

“Is anyone hit?” Cantu asked.

“No, sir. We got out of the way just in time.”

Considered this. During Operation Sherlock, Clarence had set up a set of guns to “shoot” us, but they were filled with blanks because Raul the Pissed Off Assassin wanted to kill us personally. Perhaps that wasn't either Clarence's or Raul's move, but Cliff's.

Maybe these guns were loaded with real bullets. But I couldn't think of a better early warning system that doubled as a way for your enemies to use up all of their ammo than this. But there was really only one way to find out.

Took my purse off and took Stripes out of it. Dug through to find a package of tissues. That'd do the trick. Sure I could use Other Me's wallet, but that seemed wrong, somehow.

Tossed the pack of tissues up high into the doorway. It fell down, with nothing hitting it.

“Stop wasting ammo!” The commandos ignored me. Figured. “Esteban, tell them to stop shooting.”

“Just because your tissues weren't hit means nothing,” he replied.

“Some men deserve what happens to them.” Ran out at hyperspeed. Nothing hit or even winged me, not because I was going fast but because there was nothing to be hit with.

Got behind the guns to discover there was a projector there. Turned it off. Immediately the guns stopped firing and disappeared. Took a good look at the wall by the doorway—it was wired for sound. Looked up. Sure enough, this room had a high, sloping ceiling, and there was a grate, about two stories up, give or take.

Everyone else poked their heads into the doorway. “Well, now that you've wasted your ammo
and
let the bad guys know we're here, who wants to apologize for not stopping when I said so?”

Cox brought my purse over. “I would, ma'am, but I listened to you.”

“How did you know?” Cantu asked. “This was realistic enough to fool men who've been in war.”

“I kind of know this particular bad guy's playbook. Not all of it, mind you, but some of it.” Enough of it to know that we'd just begun the gauntlet.

The others joined me, and as Stripes jumped onto my shoulder and the last commando crossed the threshold, a grate dropped from the doorway. The commandos tried to move it, but it wasn't budging.

Went over and pulled. “Alfred, need you.” He came over and together we were able to rip the grate off. Tossed it to the side and turned around to see the commandos and Cantu staring at us openmouthed. “These suits are da bomb. Speaking of bombs, expect anything and everything a Bond villain might throw at us to be here in some way, shape, or form.”

“Are you sure?” Alfred asked me.

“Dude, did you not just see that grate drop after, and only after, the last person who was on the walkway walked through the doorway? That means the concrete has some kind of pressure plates or they're observing us now, since our friends The Battle-Experienced Commandos alerted whoever to the fact that we're here.”

“But Harlie found no one,” Alfred said quietly.

“Yeah, well, your Poof is not trained like my Poofs. I didn't tell Harlie to look underground.” And with Algar's Free Will Manifesto having been drilled into them, had to figure that the Poof wasn't necessarily as clear on what to look for and share as mine. Also, the Poofs tended to be really picky about specifics.

Alfred looked around. “Where do we go from here? This just looks like a round room.”

It did. A very bland, very nothing round room. There was nothing on the concrete floor, nothing on the concrete walls other than the sound equipment by the doorway, and the only thing in the room was the projector, which was behind a small, curved, concrete sorta-wall that was only about waist high on me. However, there had been a lot of effort put into making this room, so I really doubted that it was the dead end it appeared to be.

“Let's start tapping the walls,” I said to the room in general. “There's a secret door around here somewhere. Could be in the floor, too.”

The commandos just stared at me. Decided I didn't like them. At all.

Went over to Cantu. “Okay, your guys just let our enemy know we're coming. I'm giving you this opportunity to let me lead the team.”

The commandos snorted or muttered. Clearly they weren't open to a woman being in charge, or else they somehow thought they hadn't mishandled the situation.

Cantu picked it up, not that it was hard to miss. “Let's check for secret doors in the walls and floors.” The commandos instantly started tapping on things. Decided I might just have to hate them.

Cantu took my elbow and moved me away from his team. “Clearly you know what's going on, but these men aren't going to listen to you. I'd suggest you go over what you want to do with me, and I'll pass it along in a way they'll understand.”

“They speak English, so that means they understand me.
You
mean they want their instructions coming from someone with a penis. And yeah, um, no. That doesn't work for me, because we're heading into a very dangerous situation and I'd like to ensure that my team and I get out of it alive. And leadership by committee surely doesn't work, and you're not actually my boss, so you can't get away with this particular glass ceiling. By the way, I assume my husband, children, and friends are already hostages, and I really don't want them harmed, either.”

“So you think that Charles called me under duress?”

“I don't think, I know. He and the others had no idea this was Cliff Goodman's hideout—if they'd known, they'd have already handled this. Better than your commandos, by the way. The only way he could have told you to come here was if he was told where to tell you to come.”

Cantu looked pissed. “That's why you wanted to know what he said, exactly. You were trying to figure out if he was passing along some kind of clue or warning to me.”

“He was. He sounded scared and stressed. Charles doesn't do scared or stressed.” Unless some bastard had a gun to his children's heads, which is what I figured was going on. “And if you were his boss, you should know that.”

Cantu sighed. “I am his boss. And I'll give you that I should have noticed. I was just . . .” He shrugged and looked embarrassed. “I was just worried about my team and excited that I had a solid lead. I didn't pay attention.”

“Right. Like you didn't pay attention at the doorway.”

“It was very realistic gunfire. Very much like at the Farm.”

“True.” The Farm was the C.I.A.'s training center. Had to figure that if I'd been discussing this situation with Chuckie, Reader, or Buchanan, none of them would have compared what was going on to their training camp. In part because their time in training camp would have been years ago, and they'd certainly seen a lot more action since then.

Looked at how Cantu was dressed. Unlike the commandos, he was in a suit and nice shoes. The infrared goggles looked completely out of place on his head. And, as I looked around the room, Cantu looked completely out of place here.

I was so used to working with highly trained and efficient people who literally lived to be in suits that it hadn't dawned on me until this exact moment that Cantu was dressed completely inappropriately for bringing down a drug lord or an Evil Mastermind. He was dressed to take a meeting.

Internal Affairs tended not to be out in the field—they were the investigative branch, but that meant they spent most of their time investigating their own people, usually through paper trails and such.

Basically, Cantu was a desk jockey, hoping to bring down the Mole of Moles. In other words, he was the last guy who should be leading this team, and also likely the first one who was going to die. He wasn't James Bond or another Double-O—Chuckie, Reader, and Buchanan fit those positions. He wasn't even Q or M. He was the guy who Bond, Q, and M ignored until the day was saved and Her Majesty's Secret Service was back on top.

And he was the boss of the three men I was trying to save, and the only one who was going to be believed if things got as hairy as I knew they were going to.

Alfred chose this moment to call me over; Cox was already with him. I dutifully trotted over, reminding myself that, so far, pop culture had never let me down. Alfred had his mask off and was holding something that looked like a cell phone with some extras. “What do you have there, Q?”

Alfred beamed. “I do love those books and movies, Double-O-Seven.”

“Glad to oblige and even gladder that you're not a sexist idiot.”

“Does that make me Moneypenny, ma'am?”

“Works for me, Bill.” Stripes meowed. “Stripes says that to him I'll always be Catwoman. I'm good with that, too. Now that the superspy and superhero names are all set, what's up and in your hand?” Looked a little closer. “And where did you score that duffel bag?”

“I ran back to the speeders and got more equipment. I figure we're going to need it. This is an advanced smartphone with extended reach capabilities—it can send and receive through metal and concrete—a three-D printer, and several other very useful programs. I'm scanning the rocks to see if I can spot the door or doors. I have to have my mask off to see the data on this screen, though—just one of those things I haven't perfected yet. By the way, I also did a search and it's not good on the Israelis,” Alfred added in a low voice. “Their embassy was attacked early this morning—from what I can tell, just an hour or so after you'd left.”

I'd been expecting this. But it didn't make my stomach clench any less. “Are they listing casualties?”

“Not yet.”

“We know your husband's alive,” Cox said. “And I have to figure your kids are, too. Probably the others as well. No reason to tell Cantu to come down here if they're all dead—why help out your enemy in that way?”

“I agree, Lunatic Lad. I'm certain Cliff has some of them—hopefully all of them. But saving them is going to be harder because of who we're stuck working with.”

“Those are paid commandos,” Cox said derisively.

“You're sure?”

“Yes, ma'am. Heard them talking. They don't think they were paid enough to, and I quote, ‘have to listen to some chick carting around some weird cat who thinks she knows what she's doing.' Needless to say, I'm not impressed.”

“Charming. But I think I know how to handle them. So, Alfred-Q, what's the status on how we get out of this room and move on?”

“Interesting.” He went over to the only thing in this room—the curved little wall. “I'm positive there's a mechanism of some kind in this. But I can't see how to trigger it.”

“And I already checked this area, and I couldn't find anything,” Cox said.

The commandos were done and complaining that there were no doors and that this was a colossal waste of time. Cantu wasn't telling them to shut up and stop whining. Figured I was going to have to get tough and soon. But first, time to test a theory.

“Everyone, be ready to move.”

Then I lifted up the projector.