Alien Diplomacy (56 page)

“Oh, you compared favorably, too, you know.”

Jeff grinned again. “Yeah.” He pulled me over to him and hugged me. “You handled that amazingly well, baby.”

I hugged him back. “Thanks. And I’m all impressed with the personal growth.”

He chuckled as he let me out of his embrace. “Don’t expect it to happen every time.”

“Trust me, I won’t.” I sighed. “I hate to bring us back down to reality, but based on what I’ve gotten so far, someone in my Washington Wife class is or knows the assassination target.”

“It’s still not enough,” Chuckie said. “Pepé and Smooth Operator
only confirmed what we’ve already suspected. They didn’t narrow the field down enough.”

“Vance said he’d told the other guys—Abner, Bryce, and Leslie, even though she’s a girl.”

Reader shook his head. “Still at square one, girlfriend.”

“So, no signs of death or destruction?”

“No,” Chuckie said. “Just the usual crap that goes on at these things. You know, like what you’ve just gone through. Otherwise, it’s been utterly devoid of dangerous activity. I don’t know whether to be relieved or preparing my letter of resignation.”

I looked around. “Boy, Vance was right, no one’s leaving until after the President talks.” I jerked. “That’s it. Whoever’s going down, our assassins are waiting for when everyone’s paying attention to the President.”

Gower nodded. “Makes a bigger impression. The music will be off, everyone will be facing the stage.”

“Normally, those areas are cleared by Secret Service before things start,” Chuckie said.

“Great. But Titan’s running the security, so even if the Secret Service thinks it’s all clear, it doesn’t mean it actually
is
.”

“On it,” Reader said, as he pulled out his phone. “We’ll check the areas that would have a clear shot of the stage.” Chuckie was making calls, too.

“We need to get to my mom and make sure she has the President stall going on stage.”

“Won’t he need an excuse?” White asked. “These affairs are normally well orchestrated and timed out down to the minute.”

“Don’t care. If anyone can make the Pres stall, it’s Mom.”

Chuckie hung up. “I have people going with yours,” he said to Reader. “But I couldn’t reach your mother,” he shared with me.

“Anyone see her anywhere?”

We all looked. “Nope,” Jeff said finally. He sighed. “I know, I know. You want us to split up.”

“I do.”

The others scattered. Jeff shook his head. “You sure you don’t want me with you, baby?”

“Well, I do, especially since the weird has been turned up to eleven for this entire shindig. But we’ll find Mom faster if we’re not together. Besides, I know you can find me.”

He grinned as he gave me a kiss. “Yep. I’ll just follow the shocked, horrified, and amused trail you’ll leave.”

“Ha ha, very funny.”

We split up. It was incredibly crowded, and I was having no luck finding Mom or anyone else I knew. I spotted and avoided the Cabal of Evil, which zoomed me onto another path. I checked my phone—had a text from Reader saying Mom was advised and the Pres was stalled, so I was to go back to scouting and being baitlike. Which was nice, because I finally found someone I wanted to spend time with.

Caroline and Michael were by a support column near the stage. Because the stage was raised and there were no food or beverage stations nearby, the space they were in was like a little alcove.

“Kit-Kat!” Caroline grabbed me. “Where’ve you been?”

“Tell you later. But believe me when I say I’m glad to see you.

She laughed as she pulled me somewhat behind the column. “Time to meet my boss.”

“Sure.” I put out the paw. “Very nice to meet you, Senator McMillan.”

He was a little older than my parents, but unlike most of the politicians I’d met, he didn’t have the “look.” He reminded me a lot more of my Uncle Mort, the high-ranking career Marine, than anything else. Of course, he’d been a Marine, too, so that might have been why.

He shook my hand. “My Caroline’s told me great things about you, Ambassador. And I understand you’re ‘related’ to my wife, as well. Kelly,” he called to the woman standing a few paces away, talking to another small group, “come and meet your sister.”

She extracted herself and joined us. We did the intros, then she, Caroline, and I did the whole not-so-secret sorority handshake, pledge, and all the rest of the hoopla we did any time we met a sister for the first time.

Kelly McMillan was perfectly put together, blonde hair pulled back into a flattering bun, but she smiled with genuine warmth. She’d graduated from college well before we were born, but the sorority bond went past just your years in school.

Somehow through all the chitchatting we got shoved a little farther back into this alcove. The music changed again, this time a song people could actually waltz to, Rod Stewart’s “Downtown Train,” and Michael asked Caroline to dance. It meant someone from our group was on the dance floor, so I wasn’t against it.

I thought McMillan was going to ask his wife to dance, so got ready to move on, but someone else asked her. I was fairly sure it was the Secretary of State, also known as Villanova’s boss. McMillan seemed to have no issues with someone else asking his wife to
dance, and they sailed off. Anyone else nearby joined them, and shortly we were the only ones in this area.

“How are you enjoying your new position?” he asked me when we were alone.

“It’s…fine.”

“How are you finding D.C.?”

“Oh, great town. So wonderful to have all four seasons. And all that.”

He chuckled. “I hate it here, personally.”

“Dude, really, you too? I loathe this place.” I realized what I’d said and winced. Chalk one up in the Darcy Lockwood Failure Column. I had no idea why it had slipped out, other than that I liked him already and didn’t feel that I was next to someone I couldn’t or shouldn’t trust.

McMillan laughed. “Nice to see you’ve relaxed around me. It’s a harsh change from our beautiful home state.”

“No one else seems to think the desert’s pretty. But I miss it like I can’t even describe.”

“It’s a different climate, topography, and mindset back home. You’ve only been here three months. Wait until you’ve been here longer.”

“I’ll like it then?” I asked hopefully.

“No. But you’ll really treasure the few times you’ll be able to take a vacation and go home.”

W
E BOTH HAD A GOOD LAUGH,
but I did have a question. “Is it that obvious that I hate it here?”

“Only because I expected and was looking for it. Transitions are always difficult. Especially if you’re…used to being in a more…active role.”

Chuckie and Mom had said he knew about Centaurion Division, meaning he probably knew who I was, outside of my relationship to Caroline. Still, I was supposed to be keeping the profile low.

“Yeah. How did you handle it? I mean, you’re a war hero. Can’t imagine a more drastic change than moving from that to what you do now.”

“Oh, yes, it’s very different.” He sighed. “Let’s stop pretending, just for a moment. When you’re used to being actively involved in things, especially things like protecting innocent people from very real and very threatening dangers, focusing on compromise and diplomacy can be a rocky road to travel on. How are you really doing?”

“I suck at it. Big time. Why don’t you? Is it just that you’ve been doing it longer?”

“No. There are times, many times, when I feel just as you do. Like I’m a failure.”

“Why do you keep on? You’ve been a senator for a long time now. I mean, I know you have a big ranch back home. Why don’t you retire and just have fun for a while?”

McMillan was quiet for a few long moments. U2 shared that “Sometimes You Can’t Make It On Your Own.” I agreed with their sentiments. “I think about it, periodically. Certainly when it’s time to campaign for reelection.”

“So what makes you go for it?”

He gave me a small smile. “Long ago, I was complaining to Kelly about some county ordinance. She got fed up and told me if I really wanted to fix things, then I needed to get involved. So I did. One thing led to another, and suddenly, there I was, on Capitol Hill, representing my entire state.”

“Was it cool?”

“It was hell. War is worse, but it’s also more straightforward. The other side wants to win as much as your side, and that means lots of killing, on both sides. And within that, there’s strategy, maneuvering, and more. But the overall goals are simple—especially if you’re fighting in the trenches. The business of politics is all compromise. You break a promise over here so you can get a more important agreement over there. It’s hard not to go to bed feeling dirty.”

“So, again, why do it? Why keep on?”

“Kelly asks me that, every election year. But she also asks me this—do I know the hearts and minds of my opponents?”

“Why does that matter?”

“I know my own mind, my own heart. I know that what I’m doing, I’m doing for the right reasons, to protect and serve my constituents, this country, the world at large. But I don’t know and can’t know my opponents’ hearts and minds. Or at least, so far, I haven’t believed any of them are more committed than I am, more willing to make the hard choices, more able and willing to call foul when it needs to be called. And until that time…” He shrugged. “I don’t do this so much because I want to, but because I haven’t yet found someone I trust with the job more than I trust myself. And I know I’m not the only one in government who feels like that. There are more of us than I believe most people think. It only takes a few high-profile bad apples to ruin the entire barrel.”

I looked around the ballroom while I digested this. The former Diplomatic Corps had screwed their own people, as hard and as viciously as they could, for what had turned out to be decades. They hadn’t been willing to step down, ever. White, however, had been a great leader, for a long time. And he stepped aside when he didn’t feel he could lead the hearts and minds of his people as well as Gower could. But he didn’t step down until he knew Gower was ready.

Jeff and Christopher had done the same thing, left jobs they’d loved and worked hard to get, because there were others they could trust with those jobs—and they were needed elsewhere. Because
White had felt there was no one else we could trust to take over the Diplomatic Corps and do the job that needed to be done.

“So,” I said slowly, “you’re saying that sometimes you need to do the job you hate, that you don’t think you’re good at, because there’s no one better available, and at least you know that you’ll do the best you can.”

“Yes. I’m saying that unless or until you can trust someone else, you have an obligation to do the job, and do it well, to the utmost of your ability. At least, if you’re a leader,” he added. “Though I think it applies to everyone.”

“Even if you think you’re better at doing the real protection stuff?”

“Even then. And, who knows? You might surprise yourself, if you give it a chance. Understanding people’s motivations is a huge part of this job, and from what I gather, you’re quite good at that.”

“I suppose.” I wasn’t doing so well with motivations right now; none of us were. I looked at McMillan. “Can I ask a hypothetical question?”

“Certainly.”

“Why do you assassinate someone?”

This earned me a long look. “I don’t, but I understand your question. There are a few reasons, all of them political. To remove someone from office, to make a statement against what your target stands for, or to remove someone standing in the way of what you want.”

“That last one, why do you feel it’s a political reason?”

He shrugged. “Most human motivations can be boiled down to very simplistic emotions or desires. Love, revenge, money, power. There are others, of course, but you can probably boil them all down to those few.” He chuckled. “Money can boil down to power and revenge can boil down to any of the others. So, I guess that leaves us power and love.”

My mental wheels were finally turning. But the answer was still out of reach. “Okay, that all makes sense. So, why assassinate someone, as opposed to merely killing them?”

“You mean, why was JFK shot publicly?”

“Yes.”

“To make that statement. And access, of course. Most people of high political importance have a great deal of security around them at all times. Usually it’s only at big events where there are so many people that an assassin can take their shot.”

“You mean an amateur assassin, right?”

“Right.”

Almost there. “So, what if you didn’t want to make a statement? What if you didn’t want anyone to know?”

“It’s difficult to kill someone and not have the police take an interest. While there are sadly many unsolved murders, the police do their best to solve every case they can. Especially high-profile ones. Killers tend to get caught.”

“Amateurs, yes. But not the professional ones.” I could feel it, the answer to the question of what was really going on, but my mind couldn’t quite wrap around it. I scanned the crowd.

“Ah, then we’re talking straightforward murder for hire. That’s a different thing. Your professional assassin doesn’t want to get caught, of course, or make a statement—if a statement’s being made, the assassin isn’t the one really making it. He or she is merely doing a job.”