Alien Diplomacy (51 page)

My shoes were simple black pumps dusted with whatever my dress had that made it glitter without my being able to tell how it was glittering. Basically, as long as there was light around, I was going to sparkle. I hoped this wouldn’t make me an easier target.

It turned out Akiko had done all the dresses we were wearing tonight and had also coordinated the shoes and accessories. Pierre, being displeased with the other designers’ offerings, had dismissed them to the sad ranks of not meeting his standards prior to my arrival.

I was stunned that anyone could have pulled off four different dresses, for four different body types, in such a short time, successfully. That the other designers hadn’t wasn’t really saying they sucked, but that Akiko had said volumes about her talent, skills, and slave-driving abilities. I looked at her closely. She was very pretty but probably not a Dazzler. I did wonder if she’d gotten some A-Cs to help her, but I decided to ask that question of Pierre when we were alone.

Our designer left with the rejects, though Pierre hung onto several of the pieces “for other occasions.” As expected, he then turned us to the tasks of primping. The less said about it, the better, but it did give me a chance to ask Pierre what hairspray he favored. I’d been wanting to know since my wedding.

He winked conspiratorially. “Promise not to tell?”

“I guess not. Why? Is it so expensive Jeff’ll have a heart attack if I buy a bottle?”

Pierre laughed. “Just the opposite, darling. It’s very affordable.”

I looked at the bottles. “They don’t look affordable. In fact, they look like the most expensive hair care products on the market.”

He nodded sagely. “We have heard, perhaps, of the age-old trick of pouring lesser-quality wines into higher-quality bottles?”

“Get out! So, what’s the wonder spray in reality?”

Pierre shrugged. “Dove Extra Hold.”

I let that sink in for a long moment. “Wow. I learn something new every day. This is, so far, the only new knowledge from the past two years that hasn’t been icky, exposing decades-old secrets and lies, completely alien in nature, or terrifying.”

“I live to serve, darling. I do live to serve.”

P
REPPING AND PRIMPING WAS
finished with enough time for us to convene with the rest of the gang in the War Room, as I currently thought of the ballroom. It was really the Doom and Gloom Room, however, since we were still exactly nowhere.

Strangely enough, I was no longer worried about it. We had the head’s up that something was going down, we were all at our highest DEFCON Oh My God status readiness, and clearly the clues weren’t helping us anyway. Maybe they’d all gel before everyone died. It wasn’t a great plan, but it was all we had going for us.

I did have a question, though. “Mom, what did Vance tell you?”

“Absolutely nothing, kitten. He spent most of his time crying hysterically.”

“Where is he now?” Maybe I could get something out of him.

“We let him go home. Politically expedient. He was escorted home. No issues.”

So much for that idea. “He told me he knew who the target was. He also said he felt he was the next target, after Jack Ryan, because he had said knowledge.”

“If that was true, kitten, he certainly didn’t want to share it with me.”

“You did the whole interrogation thing? I mean, really pumped him?”

Mom gave me a long-suffering look. “No. Because he wasn’t under any kind of suspicion of dangerous activity. He was being shot at, just as you were. Meaning that I’d have hell to pay to explain why I’d been hard on him without any cause.”

“I suppose.” I wondered if Vance could really lie to my mother.
She was hard to fool, and she wasn’t trusting. Jeff had said he’d read Vance’s emotions, but he’d been fooled before—he’d had no idea any of the human drivers he’d assigned to me were traitors. So, if the lie is good enough and the liar even better, it was doable. Mom had never, ever fallen for any whopper I tried to pass, but then again, Vance wasn’t her child, thank God. But that did mean she could miss things, especially since Mom hadn’t been able to do the real interrogation stuff.

I decided I needed to find and question Vance myself. Should he actually still be alive and at the Ball. Then Mom dropped the bombshell.

“No one who isn’t listed as an operative can wear or carry firearms. In particular, no one who’s a part of the American Centaurion Diplomatic Mission can be carrying weapons of any kind.”

“Well, that blows.”

Mom gave me the hairy eyeball for that one. “Kevin and I are only carrying with Presidential dispensation.”

“The President is okay with none of us being armed to protect him and God alone knows who else?”

Mom heaved a sigh. “He knows we have a threat, but this is standard procedure. The Secret Service will be on site, in droves. And—let me stress this—
none
of you are listed as legal law enforcement officers, meaning your carrying guns or other weapons in would identify all of
you
as the assassins. Hopefully the screening will identify whoever the actual assassins might be, not that it ever does. Now, I want all the weapons removed, and I want to see them on the table.”

With much grumbling everyone dumped their weapons and, in the case of the men, shoulder holsters. To my dismay, Chuckie was among those dumping. “Why aren’t you carrying?”

“Because as far as most of the attendees are concerned, I’m an international playboy, remember? My cover can’t be blown for this event.”

“I’m under the impression the entire population of D.C., if not the world, knows who we all are and what we do. I sometimes feel like the only people we’re fooling are ourselves.”

Chuckie shook his head. “I told you before, you’re used to seeing the more, ah, active side of things, and that meant you were running into people who know what’s going on because they’re cleared for it. Some of the people that will be at the ball are cleared. Most aren’t. So we have to ensure our covers don’t slip.”

“And you’re saying they don’t tell their cronies the truth?”

“Not as often as you’d think,” Mom said. “Because if they’re found out, they lose a lot more than their security clearances. Internal Affairs exists in each agency, and their entire jobs are to find and stop leaks, corruption, and illegal activities within their bureaus. That extends to the politicians in the know as well.”

“Okay, if you say so. But can’t James and Tim take in weapons?”

Reader shook his head. “Girlfriend, as far as the rest of the attendees are concerned, at this event, I’m Paul’s husband. Only.”

“And you need to be sure you don’t tell them who we really are,” Tim added, as he dropped his guns on the table. “Now drop your Glock, Kitty.”

I sighed and did as requested. I had both my purse and my stylin’ clutch with me. In addition to dumping my gun and extra clips, I transferred what I could from purse to clutch. I had the adrenaline harpoon in its case, my iPod, my wallet, my phone, brush, mirror, and a travel bottle of the Dove nonaerosol hairspray courtesy of Pierre. There was still room in the clutch, so I tossed in some other random things that might possibly work as weapons if push came to the likely shove.

I stared at the newspaper I’d taken from Olga’s then shoved it into the clutch—since I didn’t get to take my Glock there was room, and this way, if I got really bored, I’d have reading matter. In doing so, I discovered the clutch had a long strap to convert it to a shoulder bag. I decided I loved Akiko and her design skills.

Jeff arrived during the weapons dump. He looked much better than he had going in to isolation, but that could have been because of the tux he was wearing. It looked great on him, and, as always, he looked totally hot. I managed not to drool on the nice designer dress.

He and Christopher, who was also dressed for fashion success, were both looking a little smug because neither one of them regularly carried a weapon.

“No problem, baby,” Jeff said after giving me a quick kiss. “I’ve never had an issue protecting you without firearms.”

“We’ll be fine,” Christopher agreed.

“Yeah? Just how do you think we’ll keep from blowing our covers if either one of you goes to hyperspeed?”

They looked only slightly less smug. “We’ll handle it, baby.”

A throat cleared and we all turned to the doorway. Ishmael was there. “What can we do to help?”

“I thought you were sending them to—” I stopped myself, just in case. “Elsewhere.”

Ishmael grinned. “No human being could have done what your husband did.” He shrugged. “We thought Oliver did the fluff pieces so he could do the real investigative stories, too. Turns out, every story that man prints is true.”

“Sadly, not quite all—Elvis has truly left our building,” Oliver said, joining us. In black tie. The suit looked good on him, though I still couldn’t tell if he was muscular or pudgy underneath. “Oh, and Officer Melville, it’s
Mister Joel
Oliver, please.”

“You’re joining us, MJO?”

“I am indeed. I was granted an invitation via your lovely mother.”

“Mom, are you crazy? He’s a target.”

Mom shook her head. “No, I don’t think so.”

Chuckie nodded. “The buzz isn’t saying that all the assassination attempts failed, so they’re going to take out the target at the President’s Ball. The operation is and has always been set for the ball.”

“Okay, fine, so why have Mister Joel Oliver in danger again?”

Oliver shrugged. “I’m bait, Missus Martini. Just like you.”

The logic behind this didn’t have to be explained. People had been trying to kill the lot of us for days now, Oliver and me in particular. “Great, so we can draw the early bullets. Can’t wait.”

Jeff didn’t look happy. “That isn’t the entire plan you all came up with, is it?” he growled. “Using my wife as bait?”

Everyone looked uncomfortable. Jeff looked ready to go on a protective rampage. I coughed delicately. “Um, Jeff? We did this exact same thing during Operation Fugly. You were the one who suggested it.”

“That was then. That was different.”

“Yeah, we had about as much chance of success then as we do now. Otherwise, it was pretty much just like now, only we have a lot more innocent people to protect.”

“We want to help,” Ishmael said.

Reader shook his head. “Whoever’s behind at least some of this knows you. If you show up, it’ll give away that you’re alive, which could cause the planned attempt to be aborted. We can’t afford to let that happen.”

“So what do we do then? Sit here?”

“Yeah.” I went over to him. “You stay here and you stay safe, and you keep everyone else in this Embassy safe and you be on call, ready for action if we need you. I know your dogs could do that…but can all of you?”

He tried staring me down. I managed not to snort. There were
exactly two people who I couldn’t beat in a stare down, and he wasn’t Mom or Chuckie.

Ishmael looked away. “Fine.”

Amy cleared her throat. “Not to sound unsupportive of our law enforcement officers, but how do we know we can trust them?”

“Gladys will be on site,” Mom replied. “Along with a number of agent teams.”

“Works for me. So, who’s driving us over there? I ask because we’ve been infiltrated and no one seems to be concerned about it.”

Jerry, Walker, and Hughes came in, wearing their Navy Whites. They looked awesome. “We are,” Jerry said. “We figure we can take everyone in four limos.”

“There are three of you.”

Len and Kyle walked in, both dressed in tuxedos—Armani, of course. Pierre had been keeping the Elves busy.

Jerry grinned. “Your boys’ll drive you, Jeff, Paul, and James. We’ll take everyone else.”

“We get to carry,” Walker added.

“How so?”

Hughes shrugged. “We’re military.”

Mom nodded. “They’re still considered part of the U.S. Navy even though they report directly to Centaurion Division. So I was able to have an exception made.”

Irving and Tito came in, sporting the team Sharply Dressed Man look. Irving was also sporting the Worried and Nervous look. “Are you sure Doreen and I should go?”

“We’re going,” Doreen said firmly. “I’m the only one of us who has any continuity with the former Diplomatic Corps. I realize we’re all worried about saving people, but I’m also worried about our actual reason for being here. We haven’t really done well diplomatically these past few months. This is an important event, and we have to show and show well.”

“But no pressure!” I said cheerfully. I got a lot of dirty looks.

Tito just laughed. “I’ll be there. And I promise to stay right with Doreen,” he added to Irving, as he raised the medical bag he was carrying.

Michael, Naomi, and Abigail Gower arrived, all looking breathtakingly beautiful. I examined the girls’ dresses. I was fairly sure Pierre had arranged their gowns, too. Michael zipped right over to Caroline, his “you so hot babe” smile already turned up to eleven.

Abigail joined Tim. She grinned at me. “Alicia’s wisely sitting this one out. So I’m Tim’s ‘date.’ ”

“He’s actually yours,” Naomi corrected as she joined Chuckie. “Our friend the international playboy got us invited, remember?”