Alien Diplomacy (7 page)

It might have been a limo, but I could still see Len’s grin in the rearview mirror. “Got it, Kitty. You ready to rumble?”

Kyle turned the stereo on, and the melodious sounds of Aero-smith’s “Back in the Saddle” wafted through the speakers.

Ah, that’s what my driver and bodyguard were supposed to act like. Maybe this day wasn’t going so badly after all.

P
ARKING WASN’T REALLY PLENTIFUL
in the D.C. area. The nice thing about having a driver was that I didn’t have to worry about it. Len pulled up in front of the building where Mommy and Me was held while “Can’t Take Me Home” from Pink blared on the stereo, turned on the emergency flashers, and Kyle helped me and Jamie inside.

Class was fun for both me and Jamie. While there were still plenty of moms and babies dressed for serious Washington success, there were plenty in jeans and tracksuits, too. I hadn’t really made any friends in class yet, but no one was unpleasant, and it was generally one of my favorite hours of the week. That the instructor allowed us to have our iPods on, on low, of course, was an added bonus. I usually played my Steely Dan mix playlist, since mellow was the order of the class day.

I didn’t fret about what was going on. This was time for me and Jamie, and I let my subconscious wander while “Pretzel Logic” played in my background, and I focused on lifting her up and swinging her around and she focused on giggling.

She was only three months old, but per her doctors, Jamie’s brain functions were highly advanced. So she was doing some things early, but not too many. Fortunately I had Erika Gower on speed dial, as well as Melanie and Emily, Lorraine and Claudia’s respective mothers. Not that my own mother wasn’t perfectly equipped to handle any concerns, but some things about a hybrid baby even my mom wasn’t prepared for, hyperspeed being only one of them.

So far, Jamie’s hyperspeeding issues had been handled by Jeff
and ACE. I didn’t ask how because ACE didn’t like to talk about it, and Jeff’s attempted explanation had confused the hell out of me. I was satisfied with the results and let it go at that.

“Hi!” A mom about my age with a boy a couple months older than Jamie plopped down on the empty mat near us. “I’m Bernice. My friends call me Bernie. And this is Jordan.” She was dressed in jeans and an Abercrombie & Fitch T-shirt. Jordan was sporting a Donald Duck motif. They were clearly our kind of people.

“I’m Katherine, and my friends call me Kitty. This is Jamie.”

She grinned. “Cool. I think we’re supposed to team up for the next stuff. You two want to buddy up?”

“Sure!” After my earlier experience, someone actually being friendly for a normal, nonvicious reason was a treat.

We passed our babies back and forth. I was glad my iPod was on low, because Bernie was a chatterer. She was small and dark-haired, with big brown eyes. Jordan looked a lot like her, though, per Bernie, not as much as Jamie looked like me.

Her husband was a professor at Georgetown, and she was an adjunct. He taught law; she was in the humanities department. “I’m a Jackie of All Trades. They float me where they need me. It keeps things interesting.”

“Sounds like a great gig.” It sounded a lot better than my gig, but I kept that to myself. “You must be happy to be here.”

“Raul loves it here, I think it’s okay, but I’m not convinced it’s the right place to raise Jordan,” she shared.

“Oh? What don’t you like about it?” I hated pretty much everything, so I figured I’d let her lead this conversation.

“Pretty much everything,” she said with a laugh. “I mean, it just doesn’t feel like…us. You know?”

“Totally.”

Exercises changed. Bernie gave me a sheepish look. “I forgot my iPod. Would you mind sharing earphones?”

I wasn’t a germaphobe, and we could easily be close together. “Sure.” I switched the headphones so I had one in my right ear and she had one in her left. “Any requests?”

“Oh, I like pretty much everything.”

“A kindred spirit!” I figured we could move off of Steely Dan, so I turned off in the middle of “The Royal Scam” to switch to the random-select option. The melodious sounds of “Take On Me” by A-Ha came on.

“Oh, I love this song,” Bernie said. “You like oldies and classic stuff, too?”

“I like everything.”

“Wicked!”

We quietly rocked out with our babies for the rest of the time. Class ended far too quickly, but I felt a lot better about things. I’d made a friend who was, as near as I could tell, just like me, and that was worth all the crap I’d gone through earlier.

Bernie and I exchanged cell phone numbers. “You guys doing anything this weekend?” she asked as we packed up our stuff and I chased after one of Jamie’s bottles that had rolled away from me.

“Yeah. I wish we weren’t. We’re going to the President’s Ball.”

“Oh, wow, you’re so lucky. Wish we were going, but professors, even law professors, don’t rate an invite.”

I shrugged as I put the bottle away. “I’d prefer to stay home or go to a movie. I don’t really expect to have a good time.” I also expected some kind of assassination attempt, but that was definitely something I didn’t think I should share with Bernie, and not just for security reasons. Why scare off the only girlfriend I’d made in this town in three months? I’d let her find out what my life was like after we’d had time to bond over more than Mommy and Me and my iPod.

“Well, maybe we can do something together next weekend. If your schedule allows for it.”

“I’ll do my best, believe me. Even if I have to insult a dignitary to do it.” This was, sadly, not so much a Cool Chick thing to say as likely prescience on my part.

Bernie giggled. “Wicked.”

“Only when someone pisses me off.”

Bernie gaped at me for a minute, then she burst into laughter. “You’re great. I can’t wait for Raul to meet you. He’s going to think you’re to die for.”

“Same back atcha. I think Jeff will get a kick out of you, too.”

“Hanging with you,” Bernie said emphatically, “is gonna be a blast.”

W
E WANDERED OUT, EXCHANGING PLEASANTRIES
with the other moms. No one appeared about to assassinate me or anyone else, so, while still possible, suspects seemed unlikely in my Mommy and Me class. And the instructor didn’t tell me to disavow all knowledge of her or the class, so I counted this in the win column, too.

I had no idea where he’d managed to stash the limo, but Len was with Kyle in the waiting room, guarding the stroller, diaper bag, and Poofs.

Bernie sort of stared at the boys. We said our good-byes, and she hustled Jordan out. I hoped my having big bodyguards wasn’t going to mess up our budding friendship, but there was only so much I could do about it.

“I’ll go get the car,” Len said as he stood up.

“Don’t bother. I’m sure we can walk it.” I had on my Converse, so I was prepped for walking. Besides, the various A-C assigned drivers had refused to allow it. Ergo, I wanted to walk to wherever the limo was.

Len and Kyle exchanged glances, and Kyle shrugged. “Mister Reynolds said she was the boss unless he had to override her for some reason.”

I put Jamie in the stroller, happily surrounded by Poofs, and we headed out, the boys flanking me.

Something made me look across the street. There was a familiar figure there, leaning inside a doorway. Buchanan nodded to me, shoved off the wall, and walked off in the opposite direction from where we were going.

“Who’s that?” Len asked.

“Someone from my Washington Wife class.”

“Why’s he here?” Kyle asked.

“No idea.”

I pondered this weirdness for about half a block, when a familiar figure with black hair and beard stepped out of a doorway. He was dressed as I was used to, in casual, baggy, well-worn but clean clothes, big camera around his neck. I still couldn’t tell if the clothes hid muscles or pudginess. He was under six feet and much smaller than Len and Kyle all the way around.

He beamed at me, blue eyes twinkling. “Here you are, my favorite alien lover.”

“Mister Joel Oliver, always a pleasure. Meet Len and Kyle, my friends, who, like me, don’t believe in aliens.”

Oliver snorted. His snort was a lot more like mine than Mrs. Darcy Lockwood’s. I wondered for a moment what her opinion was of Mr. Joel Oliver, then figured it had to be poor. He was the main investigative reporter for the
World Weekly News
after all, and I didn’t have to ask to know what Lockwood thought of that kind of newspaper.

Len and Kyle nodded at him. “Nice to meet you, Mister Oliver,” Len said, in a tone indicating he was lying.

Oliver smiled wider. “Mister Joel Oliver, please. As Missus Martini is well aware, a man in my position needs to ensure whatever shreds of respect he can garner. How are you, my dear?”

“I’m good. Why are we having this conversation?”

Kyle shoved past Oliver, gently, as Len took my arm and kept me and the stroller moving along.

Oliver wasn’t fazed, of course. He trotted along with us. “I have more information,” he said quietly.

“This is you barking. This is me being the wrong tree.”

“I can’t risk going to your oldest friend right now,” Oliver said as he tried to get a couple of snaps of Jamie, which Kyle quite effectively blocked. Football players as paparazzi protection was rather brilliant. Not a surprise Chuckie had come up with it.

“And why is that?”

“I’m being followed.” He said it calmly.

“Turn about being fair play and all that?” Hey, I had a sarcasm knob, too.

Oliver sighed. “I’m not your enemy. But I believe the people following me are.”

We turned a corner and kept on walking. We weren’t rushing; in
fact, we were going quite slowly. I was used to having big guys around, but Len and Kyle were clearly adjusting to their new protection detail, and having Oliver along was causing some issues on the sidewalk. I considered if we should just run for it. It was a safe bet that Len and Kyle would have no problem beating Oliver over a short distance, and circumstances constantly ensured that my sprinting skills remained topnotch.

Jamie started to cry, loudly. We all stopped while I did a fast diaper check. Oliver poked his head around as I was doing this. “Oh, what a beautiful baby!” He sounded sincere, and the camera wasn’t snapping.

Jamie looked right at him, gurgled, and smiled. He bent closer; she reached up and tugged on his beard. Oliver laughed and tickled her tummy, earning giggles. I cleared my throat and Oliver backed off. Jamie looked back at me. I decided to take the hint.

“Fine. Why don’t you come along with us and share the latest?”

Len and Kyle gave me looks that said I was crazy. I was used to looks like that. Since meeting the boys from A-C, I got those looks on a very regular basis. “Jamie likes him.” Which, because she had both empathic and imageering blocks implanted, courtesy of Jeff and Christopher, likely meant that ACE was giving me a hint.

Since ACE tended to leave us alone so it didn’t interfere with our free will, I’d learned to pay close attention to whatever hints Jamie seemed to be giving me. I was all over getting an assist from the superconsciousness whenever possible. I liked being alive and keeping my nearest and dearest alive, too.

Len shook his head. “You’re the boss.”

We started off again, Len on one side of the stroller, Kyle on the other, Mr. Joel Oliver walking next to me while I pushed. If we went at a leisurely pace, this wasn’t too bad. The limo appeared to be several blocks away, but even though it was cold, it was a pretty day, so I decided to enjoy our impromptu constitutional. “So, MJO, how did you find out about the assassination attempt?”

“MJO?”

“I like to save the breath when I can.”

He gave me a look that said he didn’t believe me. I glared at him. He sighed. “I have a network of informants. All of them agree that something big is going down, and the President’s Ball came up as the likely location more often than not.”

“That’s it? Something big?” We had our entire network panicked over this? I began to wonder if Chuckie needed a vacation or something.

He sighed again. “Missus Martini, there’s more to it than that. I have informants all over the world. When, worldwide, the same things start popping, you have to pay attention.”