Alien Collective (34 page)

Jeff.

D
URING OPERATION SHERLOCK,
Jeff had been a target. However, based on all the clues, he was “the” target now, not just one of many. Though our enemies would undoubtedly like to take out as many of us as possible.

I wanted, desperately, to tell everyone that we had to bag all these plans and get Jeff under the strictest guard possible. Only, we didn’t have that option.

If I didn’t do my dog and pony show, I knew without asking that American Centaurion was going down in flames, at least in terms of approval ratings and such. And we needed approval, because we had a lot of people who hated us and they were getting good at getting together. Club 51 and the Church of Intolerance had made their love connection, and other groups like them were following suit.

The same held for the Presidential Ticket announcement. If Jeff didn’t show, Armstrong could pretty much kiss his campaign goodbye. And it would mean we’d lose all our support in Congress, because if we bailed on one of the guys who was one of our staunchest supporters, then who could believe they could count on us at all?

Plus, even if I told the others what I was worried about, they’d all say the same thing: Jeff, like the rest of us in positions of power and influence within Centaurion, was always a target. So how did that make today different from any other day? My sharing that I was worried because of a dream and a hat with some tea leaves in it wouldn’t convince or reassure anyone, either.

But Chuckie would be there with a ton of A-Cs and all those people focused on protection and maybe outside hadn’t meant someplace dangerous. “So, where are you all going to be for the announcement you’ll be making while surrounded by alert, watchful, and distrusting security personnel?”

“Steps of Congress,” McMillan said. Swiveled to look at him. Hoped I wasn’t going to get a crick in my neck from all of this. “Photo opportunity and all that. Hopefully the announcement will draw the press away from you on time. Vincent and Jeff go on shortly after your conference is supposed to end—just enough time for the reporters to leave you and come to us.”

“Or to send two sets of reporters out.” And just enough time for our enemies to blow us all up in succession. But I didn’t say this aloud, score one for my learned diplomacy.

Armstrong shrugged. “Most reporters want both stories, not one.”

“Love your optimism. But won’t that mean the same people toss the exact same questions to you guys?”

“It will. But we’re all prepped.” Got another shot of the Campaign Smile. “Don’t worry, Kitty. I’ve done this before and Jeff’s a natural. It’ll be fine.”

Before I could list the ways that this could all be far less than fine, a Field agent I’d seen around but couldn’t name if the fate of the world depended upon it arrived. “Excuse me, Commander,” he said to Reader, “but the Embassies and the Pontifex’s Residence are all cleared for rehabitation.”

“Good.” Reader stood up. “Then we can all go home after these events are over. Let’s get moving—Kitty has to go on in less than an hour.”

As we all got up and started moving toward the elevators, the Field agent touched my arm and we stepped aside. “This was waiting at the Embassy, outside the front door. Ambassador. I think it’s for you.”

He handed me a small package, wrapped in plain brown paper. There was no return address. There wasn’t really a mailing address, either. Instead there was a small card, a cut and folded piece of the wrapping paper, taped to the top. This was addressed to Miss Katt.

Lifted the top of the card up.
Open immediately, before you leave for your meetings.

Well. Either our enemies were aware that only a handful of people called me Miss Katt, or I’d gotten a package from the Dingo. Slipped the package into my purse. “Thanks. Could you let the others know that I’m going to visit the bathroom before we all hustle off?”

“Absolutely, Ambassador.”

He turned to share my potty news and I zipped off to the bathrooms. Got into a stall, just in case I’d end up needing to flush whatever was in this. Put the package up to my ear. No ticking. Not that this meant anything.

The smart money said to take this to wherever the bomb unit was within the Science Center. It existed, I just didn’t spend time there. However, speaking of time, I didn’t have a lot before I had to gate it over to the White House.

Someone else came into the bathroom. “Kitty, are you in here?” It was Serene. Well, conveniently, the Bomb Squad had come to me.

Opened the stall door. “Yes.” Handed her the package. “Think this is a bomb? I don’t, by the way.”

She examined it. “Why not?”

“I recognize the handwriting. And there’s no way in the world anyone’s going to make the Dingo or Surly Vic write a note they don’t want to.”

“It seems okay, but we won’t know for sure unless we search it or you open it. I knew you were up to something.”

“Blah, blah, blah, I wasn’t trying to be stealthy.”

She giggled. “Liar. Why were you in the stall?”

“So I could drop it into the toilet and flush whatever if it was a bomb.”

“That rarely works.”

“Rarely doesn’t mean never. You ready to live on the edge?”

“True. And yes.”

We went into the stall together.

Opened the package carefully, holding it over the toilet, to find a burner phone and a note. “Well, that was anticlimactic.” Opened the note.
Please call the number programmed into this phone approximately 5 minutes before your press conference. No sooner, and definitely no later.

“Huh. Well, this is certainly from my ‘uncles’ because they live for the cryptic cloak-and-dagger stuff.” Had a feeling they found this to be the fun side of their jobs, protecting and messing with me. I was just lucky that way.

“I’m going to the press conference with you, then,” Serene said. “Just in case.”

“Works for me.” Dropped the burner phone, card, and note into my purse. Serene checked the rest of the packaging and declared it interest-free. Tossed the paper and box into the trash and we headed out to rejoin the others.

Things were rather chaotic, in part because those who weren’t going to the press conference were going to go home first, and then join Jeff and Armstrong at Capitol Hill, and we had a lot of people to relocate back to their places of residence.

Found Lucinda and Dad so I was able to give Jamie a hug and kiss. “Be a good girl for Grandma Luci and Papa Sol, Jamie-Kat.”

She hugged me back. “I will, Mommy. You and Daddy be good, too.”

“We’ll do our best.” Gave her, Lucinda, and Dad one last hug and kiss, then Raj came to drag me off.

We all went to first floor, which housed the main launch area, motor pool, and related moving-things-around functions and equipment. There were easily as many people here as we’d had when we were heading to Vegas to stop Kyrellis from blowing up half of Sin City. That entire thing seemed so much easier than what I was faced with today.

Speaking of Amazon fighters, Rahmi and Rhee had shape-shifted to look like a couple of female Field agents. Female agents were rare, but we had them, so this worked. They both assured me that they would not attack anyone without provocation and Chuckie’s direct order, and that protecting Jeff, the senators, Chuckie, and anyone else we cared about would be their top priority. Was happy they were going with Jeff and tried not to worry that they’d forget the “Chuckie’s direct order” thing the moment someone jostled them.

As I left the princesses, Jeff found me and hugged me. “You’ll do great, baby.”

“Picking up my stress?”

“Blocks or no, yeah.” He kissed me, rather chastely for us. “Just remember, no matter what happens, you’re always my girl.”

“True enough. Jeff? Promise me you’ll be extra careful and highly vigilant.” Wondered if I should tell him he was the new king of this chess game. Decided he’d probably be more relaxed and less aggressive if I didn’t.

He hugged me again. “Always, baby, you know that.”

“Never that I’ve ever seen.”

Jeff grinned. “That’s why we fit so well together, Kitty. We both think the other one’s the reckless one.”

“And here I was thinking it was the great sex.”

He laughed. “That too.”

Reader joined us. “Jeff, Kitty, make out later. It’s time to get this party started.”

C
HOSE NOT TO WHINE
at Reader and instead behave like an adult. Gave Jeff one last kiss, while sending a mental request to ACE and Algar to watch over him and the rest of Team Announcement. Then I went and joined Team Press Conference.

Guy Gadoire was there, of course, but this was the first time he and I had been near each other since all the fun had started the day before. “Ah, my dove,” he said in his totally faked Pepé Le Pew accent, as he grabbed my hand and proceeded to do his “thing,” which was to slobber all over it. “You look radiant as always.”

“Thanks, Guy.” Managed to extract my hand without jerking it back. “Really appreciate your coming to support us.”

“For you, my dove? Anything and everything you ask.” He winked. “Anything and everything.” Really hoped he wasn’t going to suggest I share a “bed of love” with him and Vance right now; I needed Diplomatic Decorum in charge, not the Inner Hyena.

White joined us as I controlled my gag reflex. “Ah, Monsieur Gadoire. Lovely to see you. Excuse me, I’m escorting the Ambassador.” He moved us away, pulled a small pack of wipes out of his jacket pocket, and gave me one.

“You rock above all others.” Wiped Gadoire’s “kiss” off and dropped the wipe in a convenient trashcan. Made sure no one saw, to keep my façade of being diplomatic going.

White took my hand as we approached the gate. “I’d offer to carry you, but Jeffrey would object.”

“True, but you’re the best, Mister White.”

“We’re still assuming it’s catsuit time?”

“We are. We definitely are.”

With that he and I stepped through the gate, me with a death grip on White’s hand. I was revved up just enough that I only had mild nausea, so I didn’t toss the cookies in the White House, for which I was fairly sure everyone would be grateful.

Mom was already over there, along with the four troubadours Raj had selected, none of whom I knew well, and a bunch of White House staffers whose names I didn’t even try to remember. They were all a blur. Not only was I nervous, but I had to call the top assassins soon and had no guess as to what wrinkle that was going to create. Wanted desperately to listen to tunes, but knew the reaction I’d get, so left my iPod and earbuds in my purse.

My Glock was in my purse, too, but we hadn’t been screened for weapons, possibly because we’d come over via gate and into the vestibule for this area. Decided not to point this error out as we walked down a wide corridor with a large, red, gold-bordered carpet. The walls had white columns interspersed with portraits, and the whole corridor was lined with chairs I doubted anyone ever sat on and doorways to other rooms we weren’t going into.

Gold and red was the definite color theme in this area. Culver fit in really well here—she looked far less out of place and even a little less angular. It also explained why so many First Ladies favored red as their color—why not blend in with the fancy décor where you’d be doing a lot of entertaining?

Vance had come along with us as well and he grabbed me away from White as we neared our destination. “Kitty, I heard from Mister Joel Oliver this morning.”

“Is he okay?”

“Yes. He said to tell you that there are things he’s about to bring to light about everything that went on yesterday. Should coincide with your press conference, depending on when he gets the go-ahead.”

“Did he say anything about Home Base?”

Vance shook his head. “No, that’s all he said. Other than that I should have my phone on and be ready to share a live web feed.”

“Fantastic. Okay, thanks for the heads-up. Hey, did you work with Raj and Pierre on my stock replies?”

“Yeah. I’m also here to help them spot the reporters who are going to be the biggest problems, and to let you know who Bruce Jenkins is.”

“How are you going to do that?”

“I have my ways.”

“We’re here,” Mom said, before I could question just what ways Vance thought he had.

The East Room was really a giant ballroom—it reminded me of ours at the Embassy. There were incredibly ornate gold and glass chandeliers, tall windows with gold drapes all over the room, the ubiquitous old oil portraits hung tastefully on the walls, and a parquet floor mostly covered with a gold-and-red carpet. Yep, red and gold were this area’s colors. Go ASU and USC. Thinking of those universities made me wonder how Caroline and Chuckie were doing and if they were in as much danger as Jeff, and if Len and Kyle were okay and if they were still with Oliver.

The room was set up with a dais at one end, topped with a lectern and a lot of chairs behind it, but with even more chairs on the main floor. As near as I could tell, other than those on the dais, all the seats were filled.

“I want to freshen up, just for a minute,” I said before we walked fully inside.

Mouths opened to protest. “I’ll go with her,” Serene said quickly. “I know where it is.” She linked her arm through mine and we hustled down the hallway and into the lovely Presidential Ladies’ Room.

Didn’t take time to look around. Serene made sure we were alone as I turned on the burner phone from the Dingo. Sure enough, there was only one number programmed into it.

“It’s about the time they told you to contact them, but should I be here for this call?” Serene asked after she gave me the thumbs up that we were alone.

“Sure, why not?”

“They’re your uncles and they sent it to you.”

“If they mind, they’ll tell me, I’m sure.” Hit the number. It rang four times before it was picked up. No one said anything. “Um, Uncle Peter?”

“Ah, Miss Katt, it is you.”

“In the flesh, so to speak. How are you and Uncle Victor? And what’s the good word? I’m rushing because I go on, as you know, in five minutes. Thanks for ensuring we didn’t all die yesterday, by the way. That was truly appreciated by all of us.”

“We were happy to assist. Victor and I are both fine, thank you for inquiring. And the good word, so to speak, is that evidence has been planted that will show that, true to the accusations, Centaurion Division was responsible for all the bombings around the world yesterday. I would expect someone to have that information by the time your press conference begins.”

“Fantastic. I knew we all felt too confident. So, is this evidence something we can get rid of, something we can explain, something we can prove to have been planted by the real mad bombers, or should I just tell everyone we’re leaving the planet on the first spaceship out of Dodge?”

“Actually, I would strongly recommend you take responsibility for the bombings.”