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  “Sounds good,” Charles said. “Now, if we can, I’d like to suggest we adjourn, because Kitty needs some rest.”

  Tried not to shoot a loving look toward him, but it took effort. I was fine thinking of Martini as my husband when I was angry, apparently. The moment I wasn’t, however, it was difficult, especially with Charles right there.

  Paws were shaken all around, then Martini walked Armstrong, Strauss, and Hochberg out, trailed by their many Secret Service agents.

  Goodman clapped Charles on the shoulder. “Nice job. We’ll get it handled.” What interested me was that Charles allowed and even seemed to like it.

  Charles smiled. “Yeah, thanks for the support. I do think Kitty needs to rest. Why don’t we get started and then she can weigh in once we have something?”

  “Sounds good to me, buddy,” Goodman said with a wide grin. Charles didn’t object to the friendly term, which was hugely shocking.

  Vander nodded, but looked a tad uncertain. “The apology will directly involve Kitty. I think she needs to be involved the entire way through. Kitty, what do you think?”

  I thought that I liked Vander, wanted to kick Goodman in the balls, and was really wondering how different things were in this world. “I’m with Vander. I think the idea of a bunch of men figuring out how I should apologize to anyone, let alone the PM couple, sort of screams of chauvinism. Don’t you think?”

  Goodman laughed. “That’s right, you’re our feminist throwback.”

  “I wouldn’t call it a throwback,” Singh said. His tone was very soothing. “Feminism isn’t exactly nonexistent right now.”

  “And it’s still very necessary, since some men seem to think they’re the boss of everyone, not just themselves.” Decided that—regardless of what Martini had said and how Charles seemed to feel—I wasn’t loving Goodman. At all. I’d spent too many years identifying who was trying to befriend us because they wanted to use our money, connections, or Charles’ brain without giving us any form of reciprocation in terms of loyalty, support, or real friendship. Goodman struck me as one of these. Plus, I knew what he was in my world. Sure, some people here were different, but he wasn’t striking me as one of them.

  Goodman seemed to catch on that he’d pissed me off. “Sorry, Kitty, and you’re right. Believe me, I know who I’m the boss of and who I’m not. And you’re right—everyone has their part to play, and yours is the biggest right now. So, what do you want us to do?”

  “Nice recovery. Frankly, I’d like to work with Vander, Evalyne, and Phoebe on this. And Raj and Pierre, of course. Only.” Vander looked pleased, the two female Secret Service agents looked shocked and flattered, and Singh looked relieved. Goodman kept a very pleasant, bland expression on his face. Interesting.

  “Why no one else?” Charles asked, looking slightly worried.

  Shrugged. “Because a smaller team of people who get what’s going on and can advise me will be better than a gigantic room full of talking heads.”

  “Can’t argue with that,” Martini said as he rejoined us. “As always, I just figure whatever Kitty wants to do is the right thing. So far, I’ve never been wrong about that.” He gave me a smile that told me he was incredibly pleased with and proud of my performance. Felt myself flush like a schoolgirl. Hey, he was incredibly handsome and had bags of charisma. I was starting to see how my CA had fallen for him. “Baby, you want to start that now or take that nap you wanted?”

  “Frankly, that Strauss woman pissed me the hell off and I’m no longer tired. So now will work. Depending on how fast we can come up with what to do, I’ll sleep at night or on the plane.” It seemed unlikely we were going to take a gate for this, but who knew? However, figured I should err on the side of assuming that the VP was going to have to look as normal as possible for this excursion.

  “Figured,” Martini said with grin. “Pierre is prepping as we speak. He said to tell you that he has a gigantic amount of my mother’s brownies hot out of the oven, lots of milk, plenty of Cokes and other sodas, plus other snacks all ready for you.”

  And it was nice to see that some people were exactly the same in this world. “As always, Pierre’s the best.” Looked at my smaller team. “Let’s go eat. And plan. But eating sounds like our first order of business.”

  Martini laughed. “Only my girl.”

  CHAPTER 32

  HAPPILY, we were doing our meeting in the humongous kitchen. Peter had everything Martini had described and more on the table. Martini kissed me on the cheek, and then he and the others, including the male Secret Service agents, left us alone.

  “Any chance of some tunes around here?” I asked as I devoured a brownie. They were, possibly, the best I’d ever had. I needed this recipe. For when I got home. So I could give it to my Peter. As if I was going to make these, or have any shot of them turning out as delicious if I did?

  This question got me some looks. “Kitty’s having some memory issues due to her concussion,” Singh said smoothly. “Just shout ‘com on’ like you always do and ask Walter for whatever you want to listen to,” he told me with a reassuring smile.

  “You sure you’re up to this right now, Kitty?” Vander asked, sounding concerned.

  “Yeah, I think so. I’ll let you know if I’m not, okay?” Everyone nodded. “Great. Com on!”

  “Yes, Missus Vice President Chief?”

  Decided not to question this kid’s choice of titles. “Hi Walter. Can I have some music, please?”

  “Sure, Chief. What do you want to hear? Band or playlist?”

  Dawned on me that this was a big test moment. If I chose a band my CA didn’t actually have or like, I was going to have to spend a lot of time on explanations. But she was me, so that had to mean we liked a lot of the same music. The 80s seemed like a safe choice—all the oldies stations were big on 80s music at home, and I had to figure it was the same here. “How about the Psychedelic Furs?”

  “You got it, Chief. You want only them or the playlist that has them and some others?”

  “Let’s do the playlist.” That way, I’d get an idea of some of the other bands my CA liked. The sounds of “All That Money Wants” hit the airwaves. Singh and I both relaxed. “Thanks Walter. Com off.” Hoped that was the right thing to say. Singh remaining relaxed indicated it was. Go me. “So, in the opinion of the three people who witnessed my screwup firsthand, how bad was I, really?”

  The blonde Secret Service agent who I took to be Evalyne shrugged. “You were about the level of the first President Bush barfing on the Japanese.”

  “That bad, huh?”

  The one I was hoping was Phoebe shook her head. “That wasn’t the worst thing ever. It was more embarrassing for the President personally than anyone else.”

  “So, what Vander said is right—them getting all offended is an excuse.”

  “Maybe,” Singh said. “But you did flip them off. I know you don’t know that the way you did the V for Victory sign was insulting, but it was.”

  “Frankly, you and Jeff showering them with hot coffee had to have been worse,” Vander said. “It just came off cartoonish, Kitty. But yes, I think it’s an excuse.”

  “I believe that some of their reaction may be because the general consensus of the Australian people is that you’re both heroes,” Peter said as he slid another brownie my way.

  “How so?” I asked with my mouth only sort of full.

  “Since discovering what happened, I’ve had everyone in the Zoo monitoring. From what they tell me, the majority of the Aussies think you and Jeff are fantastic. Your popularity scores are going through the roof.”

  “Wait, so why is everyone freaking out?”

  “Your popularity is high,” Evalyne said, as “Sins of My Youth” by the Neon Trees came on. “But Prime Minister Costello’s is not, and this is feeding the very vocal constituency that doesn’t like him.”

  “Meani
ng, you made him look bad and his people loved it, so he’s even more pissed,” Phoebe translated.

  “Ah. So, politically, we’re great if Jeff and I wanted to run for office in Australia, but we’ve made our ally look bad and because his people loved it, he wants to make a point.”

  “Pretty much,” Vander said. “It’s fixable, Kitty. It always is.”

  “So you guys always say.” Figured this was a safe bet. Everyone’s grins indicated I’d guessed right. Go me. I was batting a thousand. Did not expect this winning streak to last.

  “So, what are our thoughts?” Singh asked. “Obviously we need to craft a very good apology, but we also need to give them some kind of gift.”

  The others started brainstorming presents, some grandiose, some small, all expensive. But as the Psych Fur’s “House” came on, I ignored them and thought back. We were talking about people I knew well, and it was wounded pride that was giving special interests a wedge in they were capitalizing on.

  If we wanted Tony back on our side, we needed Margie to come around first. And Margie wasn’t going to come around based on some lavish gift. She’d want something personal and meaningful, not something that was showing off.

  So what could we get a couple who had pretty much everything? Thought about what was in their home. No, that wasn’t right. Matching wasn’t the key.

  As “The Ballad of Mona Lisa” from Panic! At The Disco came on, I thought farther back. When we’d first hit Australia we’d run into Lulu, their eldest daughter. She was younger than us, but we’d hit it off and hung out, met her friends, and their friends, and had found ourselves within a group where we fit.

  When we’d found out I was pregnant, both my mother and Chuckie’s were far away. Lulu had introduced us to her parents then, and Margie, the mother of three, had taken me under her wing. She’d become our “Australian mother” even though she was a little too young to be our mother. But she filled that role happily and willingly, and we loved her for it.

  And, to thank her for that, I’d given her a gift on Mother’s Day. It was a gift she treasured, and I knew this because it hung with the things her own daughters had given her over the years. And every year, when we exchanged gifts, she still told me that this first Mother’s Day gift from me was her favorite.

  Touched Singh’s hand and leaned toward him. He leaned in to me, so I could speak softly. “Do we have a way to see if there’s something specific in the PM couple’s home? Without their knowing, I mean.”

  “Yes. Why?”

  “Because I think I know what will work, but first, I have to make sure they don’t have one already.”

  “If you can describe what they’re looking for, I can have their house searched in the next fifteen minutes.” He grinned at my expression. “Yes, we’re really that fast. And yes, they’ll never know because we’re that fast.”

  He got me a pad of paper and a pencil and I scribbled a description and even did a serviceable drawing. “It’s made of crystal, and if it’s there, it should be hanging up.”

  “I’ll have them search everything in case it’s packed somewhere.” Singh took the paper and walked off, presumably to make the call.

  As he left, “Sugar, We’re Goin Down” by Fall Out Boy hit the airwaves, and Malcolm came in. “Hi, where have you been?”

  “Around.” He looked at the others. “Can I steal Missus Chief away for a minute?”

  “Sure, everyone else is handling the brainstorming.” I got up and we also left the kitchen. Singh was nowhere around. “Where did Raj go?”

  “His office,” Malcolm pointed to a nearby door. He walked us down the hall toward the basement.

  “Uh, why are we going here?”

  “I need to talk to you, and I don’t want anyone else hearing us.”

  “Okay. Why?”

  “Because I saw how you looked at one of the people in the room today.”

  “How could you? You weren’t there.”

  “No, I wasn’t. However, I was watching.”

  “Why?”

  “It’s my job. Watching over you and your daughter is my mission. Period. I generously include your husband, both of them,” he added with a grin. “But only because they matter to you.”

  “Well, that’s nice. You know, do I know you? In my world, I mean. You seem . . . familiar. Beyond having met and interacted today, I mean.” We headed downstairs to the dark and creepy basement.

  “You probably do. Like I told you, your mother recruited me out of college. She assigned me to watch Missus Chief and Baby Chief when you all came to Washington. But if you were married to our resident genius as young as you say and were living half the time in D.C., I’d bet Angela assigned me to watch over you then. So you may have noticed me, off and on, but we’d never have actually interacted unless I had to physically get you out of danger.”

  Malcolm flipped a switch and there was light. Which didn’t make the basement any better but at least it was a lot less creepy now. Also noted that I couldn’t hear the music down here, which was disappointing.

  “Ah. Okay. And no, not that I can recall. So, why are we here?”

  Malcolm sighed. “Because I don’t just think the Mastermind is a human—I know he is. In fact, I’m pretty sure I know who he is. And while both of your husbands think this situation with Australia is top priority, I don’t. Stopping the person responsible for every action against Centaurion Division and, by extension, the P.T.C.U. and other organizations is the most important priority we have.”

  “How do you know that if the others don’t? And if you know, why haven’t you told them?”

  “I know because I look at people, things, and situations very differently from the rest of the people involved. And I’m willing to believe the word of a parrot.”

  CHAPTER 33

  “WHAT DO YOU MEAN, it’s your fault if Jamie has autism?”

  Chuckie shook his head and didn’t answer. Thought about all the various conspiracies he’d told me about over the years, especially those about the C.I.A.

  “You think the C.I.A. gave you some drug, don’t you?”

  “I do.” The words sounded dragged out of him, and his voice was very low. Got the distinct impression he hadn’t shared these thoughts with Reader. It was clear he’d never shared them with Other Me. I could tell by how he was acting.

  “Did my mother approve that? Is it something you remember happening?”

  “No to both, but there’s no other explanation that makes sense.” He sounded desperate, and desperately scared. I wasn’t used to Chuckie being this emotional—he was normally laid-back and cool. Intense in bed, yes, and in a good way, but otherwise, he’d learned to keep his cool before I’d ever met him.

  Considered my reply carefully therefore. “Autism could be caused by someone slipping you some LSD or something you don’t remember, sure. But there are so many other factors.” Extremely high intelligence, for example. Figured that wasn’t going to be a comforting alternate, so kept it to myself. “Besides, I realize that your Jamie is a lot quieter than mine, but she doesn’t seem off.”

  “Really? Have you seen her room?”

  “Yeah. The mirror is a little . . . odd, I’ll give you that. But she’s clearly functioning at a high level.”

  “She’s not a normal kid, and not in the way Charlie and Max aren’t normal. Her interactions with us are limited—she’d rather stare at that mirror all day and night than leave the house, let alone interact with any of us. It’s like she’s addicted to TV or video games, but at least with those there would be something we could deal with in a straightforward way. When we try to limit her mirror time she gets . . . difficult.”

  “You mean she throws a temper tantrum.”

  He nodded. “Of epic proportions. And it’s not just that. She’s listless and uninterested most of the time unless she’s in front of her mirror
s. The few times she really communicates she comes out with these proclamations of doom. Never of anything good, and certainly not all the time. Usually she’s wrong. But there are times she’s been right. Charlie told me that Jamie said you were all going upside down today, in the car, before they left the garage. She wanted everyone to stay home. And, she was right. It was a dangerous situation.”

  “Yeah. One I realize Other Me wouldn’t have survived. Okay, we’ll deal with that as we can, but I want you to look at me, right in my eyeballs.” He did. “You are not responsible for this, any more than Other Me is. If your Jamie really is autistic, this is not a ‘fault’ situation. This is a ‘pull together and figure it out’ situation, but you aren’t to blame. And I can guarantee Other Me would feel the same way. If, you know, you actually told her.”

  “I can’t,” he muttered, as he dropped his eyes again. “She’d never forgive me.”

  I snorted. “Dude, seriously. She’s going to have the same ‘what the hell?’ reaction I did when the truth comes out, but that’s all. I’ll tell you what she’s going to be mad about—you lying to her about what you and James do and Mom did. That’s going to be something you need to apologize for. I’m sure she’ll understand—I did, when I found out. But at the same time, that’s the betrayal. Not this.”

  “She thinks I’m cheating on her, when we’re on missions I can’t tell her about.” He sounded ready to break down. This was not good.

  “Dude, stop doing this to yourself. And to her. Tell her the damn truth. Sure, she’ll worry, but she worries now. Let her worry about the reality, not the lie. I mean, unless you are cheating on her.”

  He looked up and his eyes flashed. “Kitty, you’ve been the only woman I’ve ever loved in my life. No, I’m not cheating on you. Her. You know what I mean.”

  “Yeah, I do.” Heaved a sigh. “It took the you in my world a long time to get over me, so I can easily believe this. What I can’t believe is that you haven’t worked together to fix your Jamie. And you haven’t by the way you’re acting, and by the way everyone else is acting. Use the word. Own the word. Find out if the word is right. But stop hiding from the word. Not saying the word doesn’t change the reality. Only doing something positive, or negative, can change the reality.”