Alien Diplomacy (52 page)

White, Kevin, and Dad joined us as the com activated. “Chief of Security is on premises and with the children. Commander Dyer is at Main Imageering at East Base. All other personnel are being directed to the fourth floor, per your request, Missus Katt.”

“Thank you, Walter,” Mom said. She looked at Ishmael. “I want you and your people, and pets, there as well.” I opened my mouth, but Mom beat me to it. “Yes, Kitty, our cats and dogs are there, too. As are the Poofs, which all need to stay put.”

I checked again. I had no Poofs in my purse. But Poofikins and Harlie were in my clutch. “Right, Mom, I’ll deal with not having them along,” I said as I quickly closed the clutch and tucked it under my arm.

Mom gave me a long look. I knew contriving to look innocent would let Mom know I was up to something, so I went for looking sulky. It seemed to work. She nodded slowly. “Good. Now, let’s get going. I want us in place early, so we have a chance of stopping this operation before it starts.”

While who was riding in what car was being discussed, Chuckie pulled me and Jeff aside. “I didn’t want to say anything earlier, but I think we’ve found the point of infiltration at Centaurion Division.”

“Good,” Jeff said. “What are the details?”

“On the plus side, it looks as though it was only a handful of human operatives. Two were the drivers from the other day, who are still at large. The others were rounded up this morning. They were all bribed.”

“How is that possible? We pay really, really well, and everyone goes through a screening process like the one you put Pierre through.”

“There are more kinds of payment than money.” Chuckie shook his head. “They joined because they wanted to kill superbeings. The superbeing problem is close to completely gone, and instead of getting to do something they considered exciting, they were put on straight driver duty.”

“So, they got offered, what? The excitement of being traitors?”

Chuckie shook his head. “I’m still getting the intel, but it sounds like they’d been turned well before they were relegated to the motor pool.”

“They’d all driven for the former Diplomatic Corps,” Jeff said, sounding annoyed. He jerked. “Oh. That’s who turned them you mean, right, Reynolds?”

“Right. So they were being loyal to their former bosses. They were trying to find them, it looks like, when they were approached by an outside group to work against the current regime at Centaurion Division.”

“How did you get all this so fast?”

Chuckie shot me a rather disparaging look. “I didn’t start searching for infiltration this week, Kitty. What happened the other day just gave us some new avenues to check.”

The light dawned. “Oh.
That’s
what you have Camilla working on.”

“I can neither confirm nor deny.”

“Good job, Secret Agent Man. Ready to go pretend to be normal for the all of five minutes before all hell breaks loose?”

Chuckie laughed. “Absolutely.”

W
E LOADED UP THE LIMOS.
Mom and Kevin were in their government issued big, black Escalade, Kevin at the wheel. Dad, however, was riding in one of the limos. I figured Mom wanted him with laser shield capability.

Our limo was in the lead as Len drove us out of the underground garage. “We’re going to be at a hotel, aren’t we?” I asked more to have something to say than anything else.

“Yes,” Reader confirmed. “Same place they hold the Correspondents’ Dinner.”

“So they should be used to security measures, right?”

Jeff shook his head. “Maybe. But hotels have a lot of access points. They’re vulnerable and hard to really lock down.”

“Thanks, we needed that.” I sighed. “Paul, what’s the ACE situation?”

Gower looked uncomfortable and a little confused. “ACE seems calm, but he’s very focused on…something.”

“Can you share the something?”

“No, not really. I can’t handle having access to all ACE does; it would blow my mind, literally. So he locks me out of almost everything, including whatever it is he’s paying attention to.”

Reader looked thoughtful. “So you and Kitty aren’t actually in any danger. At least, not right now.”

Gower shrugged. “I suppose not.”

“That sort of confirms Paul and I aren’t the assassination targets, doesn’t it? Because otherwise, you’re thinking that ACE would be stressing, right, James?”

“Yeah.”

Jeff sighed. “But we already knew this. Actions over the last few days to the contrary.”

“You know, if it’s the usual, all the weird goings on will be related, at least somewhat. And I think we have all the clues. But none of them make sense.”

“I think we’ve got nothing,” Jeff said flatly. “All Olga did was confirm our information, let us know she knows exactly who and what we are, and get you to realize the taxi drivers were actually former cops.”

“That was a help.”

“Only because Richard was willing to get both of you into the taxi so you weren’t shot on the street. Otherwise, they stole, then lost, the only proof we had.”

“Well, we have other clues and confirmations.”

“No,” Jeff said patiently. “We don’t. Everyone in the know is getting their information from the same source—your new buddy the tabloid reporter.”

“There’s more than what we got from Mister Joel Oliver, and you know it.”

“Yeah, but I think it’s worthless. You’re placing too much faith on the so-called intelligence the Dingo passed to you.”

We lived close to where the ball was taking place, so our conversation stopped as we got into the limo line. “We’ll be dropping you, parking, then will call for Centaurion Division agents to guard the cars,” Kyle shared.

Reader nodded. “Good. Tim and I already vetted those teams, so we should be secure, at least in terms of the vehicles.”

“Too bad we can’t drive them into the ballroom and just shove everyone in.”

“No more chatter,” Jeff said. “We’re going to be live and scrutinized shortly.”

We pulled up; Len stayed at the wheel, Kyle got out and opened the curbside door. There were flashbulbs going off. I tried not to cringe. Jeff got out first, then helped me, with Reader and Gower following us.

There was a paparazzi line. I wondered how his peers were going to react when they saw Oliver coming in with us, but I was too busy trying not to trip. There was nothing wrong with my shoes, but I was nervous about falling flat on my face anyway.

A long line of dignitaries flowed into the hotel. I spotted a lot of native-dress costumes, which jibed with what Pierre had said. We passed minor chitchat with those around us. I didn’t see Mom or
Kevin anywhere, but I figured they were using the Covert Ops entrance.

I looked around as we inched along. It was a lovely hotel with, as Jeff had said, a million places to hide if you were an evil bad guy waiting to off someone.

There were a lot of big men in dark suits with the plastic earbuds in their ears. There had been a ton of them outside, and there were even more inside, literally acting as human guide rails. They weren’t wearing sunglasses, but I got the impression they’d been told to take them off as opposed to having removed them willingly.

The rest of our group was around us now, so the four of us were in the middle, meaning I could safely ask a question. “What’s with the extras from the Matrix look? There’s a lot of that in this town. And I didn’t know we had this many Secret Service in existence.”

“These aren’t Secret Service,” Reader said. “I checked. Titan is providing the majority of the security personnel for this event.”

“Well, that makes sense then. So, the various Goon Squads at the airport and chasing me and Richard the other evening were on Titan’s payroll.”

“Probably,” Jeff said. “Now, can we stop the chatter? Just smile and wave.”

We smiled and waved as appropriate as we edged inside. There were a lot of people, and it took a good long while to get to the main security checkpoint.

There was a bank of metal detectors. The flyboys flashed their military Get Out Of Jail Free cards and were allowed to carry in their firearms. Sadly, this meant one gun each, with no extra clips.

The rest of us sailed through without issue. It was so much nicer than one of our gates I actually enjoyed the experience. Then it was back in line, standing between two rows of yet more Titan Goons, to filter into the main room.

It seemed to take forever, but we were finally in the ballroom. Mom might have wanted us all in early, and maybe she and Kevin had managed it, but there were tons of people in the room before us. It wasn’t packed yet, but based on the line that had been behind us, it would be soon.

The room was a huge oval, with a number of support columns sprinkled around, making a slightly smaller oval. The stage, which was backed by the promenade area, sat at the middle of the fat part of the oval on the far side from where we’d come in. There were
extravagant buffet stations set up between the columns, with portable bars interspersed between them. Waiters cruised among the guests with trays of hors d’oeuvres and champagne.

“Swanky. Figure the bad guys are disguised as wait staff,” I said quietly to Jeff.

“Why would that be?” he asked as he scanned the room.

“We seriously have to watch some TV that’s not like forty years old. Because it’s the easiest way to get access. And there are what looks like hundreds of staff in here.” And the Dingo and his ilk had no problem killing some innocent busboy and taking his place. Plus, since Titan was doing the security, that meant they’d likely let the Dingo through. I shared this thought with Jeff, who merely grunted. I got the impression he was having some empathic challenges with this particular crowd.

This was truly a ball, so there was a large dance floor in the center of the room. Small tables clustered between it and the food and drink stations.

I was fairly sure the President and First Lady were at the far end from us. This was based solely on the fact that I could spot the Secret Service agents. They looked different from the Titan guys—more normal and less goonish for a start. There were also a lot fewer of them, which, like so many other things, boded.

There was also music playing. I was shocked and pleased that it was actually something that you’d hear on the radio—Bon Jovi’s “Who Says You Can’t Go Home.”

Our entire contingent finally got inside. We clustered together near a table in the middle of the room. I noted that every other group seemed to be doing the same. This would have been okay if we weren’t trying to foil a bad-guy scheme, but since we were, it wasn’t our wisest plan.

“We need to split up and start covering the room.”

“I see Senator McMillan,” Caroline told me.

“You and Michael head over to him, then.” She nodded and they wandered off. “Think the food or drink could be off?”

Chuckie shook his head. “No, it’s tested before it comes out. All drinks are in bottles or cans before they’re put into the bars.”

“But that just means that a waiter or bartender could slip something in after everyone thinks the food is safe.”

“Good point.” Chuckie nodded to me, then he and Naomi wandered away from our group, Abigail and Tim following them. They headed to the nearest bar, and I saw the girls both cock their heads while Chuckie ordered drinks.

“The girls are reading the staff,” Jeff said quietly.

“Good. Should only take them until, what, next Christmas to finish?”

The music changed, and now the Black Eyed Peas were suggesting it was time to hip as well as hop. “Let’s Get it Started” blared out.

“Glad you like the music,” Jeff said. “But try to focus.”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re rocking out.”

“I’m
so
sorry. The song has a great beat.”

“Dance,” Reader said. “It’ll help you keep an eye on the people on the dance floor.”

“And the bait should be out in the open, right?”

“Right.” Reader grinned at Jeff’s expression. “Go dance and have fun before things go haywire. You’re here to be seen, the rest of us are here to save the day.”

“Yes, sir,” Jeff said. We dutifully went to the dance floor and started dancing. Reader was right—because of the kind of song it was, we were doing what I considered regular club dance moves, and that gave us the opportunity to turn around a lot.

The song had definitely worked its magic—we weren’t the only ones on the dance floor. We danced for several songs; whoever was acting as DJ had great musical taste, at least in my opinion. Getting to dance was great, but since having no rhythm wasn’t a crime, there was no one acting wrong on the dance floor. So, dancing wasn’t finding the bad guys or helping us do the diplomatic thing. I spotted Doreen working her way through the crowd, meeting and greeting and generally representing American Centaurion with a big smile, and I pointed her out to Jeff.

He sighed. “I was actually looking forward to this event a week ago. But, yes, let’s go be impressively diplomatic. Maybe we’ll stumble onto whatever’s going on that way.”

We left the dance floor and started saying hi and shaking paws. I lost track of who was who within moments. Jeff, however, was amazingly good at this. He had his charming smile, the one normally reserved for my parents, plastered onto his face, and he was making small talk as if he had been born to it. Maybe he was. Perhaps the royal genetics carried with them the ability to schmooze without missing a beat.