Alien Diplomacy (44 page)

“He and his wife both have very interesting names, don’t you think?” Olga asked.

I scanned the article. He was “in” with the Pentagon as well as some others—Madeline Cartwright was credited with the “one of our most trusted suppliers” line. She really knew all the best dudes.

After the Pentagon’s little “we love Titan” paragraph and a typical “wonderful suppliers and people” quote from Cartwright, I found the wife’s name. Cybele Siler Marling, who had also been, per this article, “a weapons genius in her own right,” had died years before. Twins, a boy and a girl, were mentioned but not named. According to the article, they’d died when his wife had.

“Um, yeah. Interesting. Hers especially. Very French. Or something. So, his wife and kids are supposedly dead.” I looked over at Olga. “Any guess as to which one of them is really alive and working as a politician in Washington?”

Olga shook her head. “The only other thing I know of Mister Marling is that he is very fond of visiting France and Paraguay. And that he might have children the press is not aware of in both of those countries and here. Or he might not.”

Maybe he was more like Yates than I’d first thought. “So it could be anyone. Or no one at all. Great.” Story of our lives these days.

“You may keep the paper,” Olga said graciously.

“Um, thanks. I think.” I folded it up and shoved it into my purse. “So, Paraguay, France, Titan…is there a connection we should be making?”

“The men in the taxis,” Olga said, looking at me, “what did they tell you?”

I held back the sigh I wanted to heave as Olga sent us off onto yet another tangent. “That they were friends and we should trust them and go for a ride somewhere. Oh, and the driver said his name was Ishmael.”

She nodded. “Didn’t something strike you as odd about what they did?”

“Everything they’ve done and said so far has struck me as odd. This isn’t our first encounter with them.”

“I see.” She looked, quite pointedly, at Chuckie, who was really doing a good job of not looking impatient with Olga’s pussyfooting around.

My brain kicked. “They left when Chuckie came.” I looked back at Olga. “That’s what you mean, isn’t it?”

“Yes. Your new young men have firearms on their persons, do they not? So the drivers would not have run because your Mister Reynolds was coming with a gun.” I didn’t even ask how she knew Chuckie and the boys were packing heat. Either she could see the outline or she was making an extremely educated guess.

She looked at me expectantly. Great, another mother-type testing me. I wondered if my mom had sent a memo out or something asking anyone who ran across me to really make me work for it before giving me any necessary information.

But, since I
was
my mother’s daughter, I was trained to actually think when the test questions appeared out of nowhere in the middle of dire circumstances.

I considered what Olga had and hadn’t said. It was clear to me that she knew a lot, if not everything, about what was going on. But she didn’t want to come out and say whatever. So she was protecting herself, which made sense. However, she wanted us to know, so she was likely dropping hints we were missing.

I looked at Chuckie again. She seemed to feel he was key. He looked back at me. “Chess?” he asked rather hopefully.

“Probably. It always is. But I can’t be sure if we’re playing one game with one really sneaky opponent or speed chess with a whole lot of lesser players. And I have no idea what pieces are where, let alone who either side’s king really is.”

Sure, the current working hypothesis had Esteban Cantu as the head of Operation Assassination, but that didn’t mean he actually
was
—he could be working for the real big bad fugly, and, based on all the very high-level things that were going on, most of which seemed above Cantu’s pay grade, it was likely we hadn’t identified that person yet. So, until we knew who that was, we had no idea of what was happening on our opponents’ chessboards. And we still had less than no idea of who our side’s king was.

I was proud of myself for thinking of all of this silently, and I
knew without asking that Chuckie was the happiest man in the world that I’d so managed. But basically, all I’d done was confirm for myself that we were still pretty much nowhere. Go me.

I sighed. “Len and Kyle didn’t get much more than we did, but should we have them come over?”

Olga coughed discreetly. “Oh, I’m sure the new young men would enjoy Adriana’s company and she theirs. But I’m sure they’re too new to matter in this discussion.”

She was using the word “new” an awful lot, and it seemed quite intentional. I looked back at Chuckie. Silence wasn’t working for me. “Why would Len and Kyle being new matter to the Three Stooges?”

“No idea,” he said. “They didn’t recognize the drivers…” He stopped talking and looked at Olga. “But the drivers recognized me, didn’t they?”

She gave him a small smile. “They did seem to leave the moment you were in the doorway of the American Centaurion Embassy.”

My brain decided to kick in. “They recognized Chuckie, and clearly not as the international playboy he is.”

“He pretends to be,” Olga corrected gently.

“Right, whatever.” I took the logic leap. “So, they left not because they knew who Chuckie was but because—”

“I’d know who they were,” he finished for me. “Len and Kyle are too new to know all the various terrorists out there…” Chuckie looked at Olga closely. “But that’s not what you’re insinuating. The drivers know me because we work together in some way.”

She smiled. “See? I knew you would know.”

“So they’re C.I.A.? They honestly don’t seem…sneaky enough. I mean, they’ve been sneaky and able to get past us, sad as it is to admit, but they just don’t seem up to the level of what I’m used to from the C.I.A.” I jerked. “They were in here yesterday, weren’t they?”

“Oh, yes,” Olga said calmly. “Adriana did not leave them alone, and she and I refused to leave the building, even though there was the possibility of a dangerous gas leak.” The way she said it, it was clear that Olga, at least, hadn’t been even remotely concerned that the gas leak might be real.

“Did they plant bugs?”

“Of course they did.” Olga smiled at the expressions on our faces. “However, we do know how to find and remove them. They
were in what I would call the standard places. All were focused on your Embassy,” she added casually.

Chuckie’s eyes narrowed. “I had operatives come in here last night.”

“You did. They were very polite. We allowed them to search, of course. It would not do for us to allow just anyone to know that we are able to spot and disable surveillance equipment. They might ask what I did before I married Andrei.”

“You were some kind of special ops or KGB or something, weren’t you?” If my mother had been Mossad before she and Dad got married, why not Olga?

She laughed. “How would an old lady in a wheelchair have ever been a part of the KGB? Really, such a silly question.” Of course, she winked at me as she said this.

“Right, gotcha, Comrade.” She laughed again. “Okay, so, Chuckie, what did your teams think of the surveillance stuff they’ve found so far?”

“It’s as Comrade Ambassadress said: They were in all the standard places. My teams searched in all the nonstandard places, but they were clean.” He cocked his head at me. “You don’t think they’re C.I.A., do you?”

“I don’t know. But it wouldn’t surprise me if they were F.B.I. or Homeland Security or something. Do you know?” I asked Olga.

She shrugged. “I believe I do. However, my assumptions are not the same as yours.”

I groaned. “Are we still being bugged or something, and you don’t want anyone to think you’ve willingly helped us?” Olga was about to answer when Adriana came into the room with a rolling cart that had a pitcher of lemonade and several glasses, along with some little cakes and cookies.

Adriana poured and handed glasses around. I could tell Chuckie wanted to do some sort of poison test on everything, though he took a glass politely. “There’s no alcohol in this, correct?” he asked pointedly, as White took his glass.

Olga and Adriana exchanged an amused look. “No, Mister Reynolds,” Adriana said. “We wouldn’t want to cause any of our Alpha Centaurion neighbors distress.”

“And I don’t believe we are still being bugged, no,” Olga said to me. She looked at Chuckie. “A part of you must be wondering if you should have asked to bring your dogs inside instead of sending the young men to take them safely home.”

I thought about this. They weren’t Chuckie’s dogs, and she most certainly knew that. “Dogs…” I took my glass and decided to go for it. I took a drink. “Tart. Very nice.”

“Dogs?” Chuckie asked, as he and White took the Lemonade Nestea Plunge and had a sip. None of us convulsed and dropped to the floor. I took a cookie.

“There were dogs in each taxi. Big German Shepherds. Who the hell drives around with big dogs in their cars? I mean, while they’re trying to do dangerous or clandestine work? Other than K-9 cops, I mean.”

Chuckie and I looked at each other, then back at Olga, who had the pleased look of a kindergarten teacher whose prize pupils had just managed to finger-paint an acceptable-looking flower. I had the feeling Olga was teaching the very slow kindergarteners today, but hey, at least we were catching up and catching on.

“Oh, please no,” Chuckie said. “We’ve got undercover local LEOs involved, too? Can this get any worse?”

She shrugged. “Things are going on in their city that they need to protect the citizens from, aren’t they?”

“They’d be the only cops around who are doing anything, at least in my limited experience from the past couple of days.”

Chuckie’s eyes narrowed. “But there are no undercover K-9 divisions here.”

“Those dogs were impressive specimens, so I can believe they’re trained. Cop trained or not, though, I can’t say. We didn’t interact with them enough. Thank God.”

Olga shrugged again. “I don’t believe they are your enemies.”

“So why are they after me, then?” I asked, after I finished the cookie. I grabbed a little cake.

“I presume they believe you to be in danger,” White said as he sipped his drink. “Or to have information they need or want. Delicious beverage, ladies.”

“Or both,” Olga said. “And thank you, Mister White, Adriana makes wonderful refreshments, doesn’t she? Thank you, Adriana. I believe you’ll be needed downstairs.” As she said this, Jamie, who was still sitting in Olga’s lap, looked toward the Embassy and cooed expectantly.

Adriana trotted off. I heard the doorbell ring.

“Chuckie, why don’t you want local law enforcement involved?”

“Because they get in our way, cause delays we probably can’t afford, and generally muck up the works.”

“They occasionally stop crimes and catch criminals, too,” I
reminded him while I snagged another little cake and filled up my glass. “Though not actually in this city. At least so far as my experiences show.” I had my suspicions, so I filled up another glass, too.

“Yes, but this is a huge international incident, meaning it’s not within their jurisdiction, though they’ll spend a lot of time trying to convince us otherwise.”

“So far, they haven’t done anything like that.”

“Yeah? Then why have they been around so much? If,” Chuckie added with a sideways glance at Olga, “we aren’t being fed a different line of misdirection.”

There was a soft knock, and Adriana put her head into the room. “I’m sorry Ambassadress, but there are other visitors.”

Chuckie moved so he was in front of me and Olga. I could tell by the way he was standing that he was ready to pull his gun. Adriana stepped aside, and someone walked in carrying a big basket wrapped in cellophane and tied with a huge ribbon. The basket was quite large, Adriana wasn’t all that tall, whoever was carrying it was, and he also clearly wanted to avoid hitting her with it, because he held it up high.

This meant we couldn’t see his head. Chuckie’s hand was moving for his gun when the basket lowered, revealing Jeff’s face. Chuckie relaxed while Jamie made the Daddy’s Here! squeal.

Jeff nodded to him. “Thanks. The jocks are downstairs. Guarding the stroller.” The way he said it, I assumed the boys were also checking the stroller for any potential bugs and such.

“Good. Next time, lower the basket sooner, please.” Chuckie stepped aside. “Ambassadress Dalca, please allow me to introduce Ambassador Martini.”

She smiled. “Call me Olga.”

“I’m Jeff. Ambassadress, this is, ah, a little something we wanted to bring over to apologize for the party.”

She laughed as Jamie bounced expectantly on her lap. “You mean, this is a good ruse to get you over here without suspicion, because you know your wife, your child, your uncle, and your friend are here with me, and you do not know why.”

Jeff gaped at her for a moment. “Close enough, yeah. But we do mean it about the gift.” He put the basket down on the floor at her feet, picked Jamie up, and cuddled her. She made Happiest Baby in the World sounds, which earned her several Daddy Kisses.

Jeff looked around again as I handed him his lemonade. “Thanks, baby. So, you’ve told her?”

Chuckie shot Jeff the “shut up, shut up” look. “No,” he said quickly. “The Ambassadress was just about to finally share her thoughts about Paraguay with us.” She hadn’t been, but apparently Chuckie was hoping this broad hint would do the trick.

Instead, Olga reached down and opened the basket—and gasped.