Alien Tango Page 3

  “You’re not going,” he said as we walked along, his arm around my shoulders and mine around his waist. He sounded relaxed but felt tense.

  “Who’re you going to see?”

  “No one you need to worry about.”

  “What’s his name?”

  “None of your business.”

  “I’m the head of Airborne. I think it is my business.”

  “Nope.” He kissed the top of my head. “See, I’m still in charge, baby. You haven’t been on board long enough to know how to deal with these people, the new head guy in particular.”

  “So, he’s new to the job? Maybe we’d have that in common, a bonding sort of thing.”

  Christopher snorted. “No one’s as new as you, Kitty.” “He’s had the position for about a year and a half,” Martini said. “But he’s been dealing with us for several years. Got promoted due to his ability to ‘understand’ us.” Martini wasn’t snarling, but it was close.

  “Why don’t you like him?”

  “Because I don’t trust him. I don’t trust anyone in the C.I.A.” Martini shrugged. “Your mother excluded.”

  At the same time I’d discovered real live aliens were living on Earth, I’d also discovered that my mother had been living a secret life. She wasn’t a consultant, she was a former Mossad agent who was now the head of antiterrorism for an elite agency that reported directly to the President of the United States.

  “My mother’s not in the C.I.A. She’s the head of the P.T.C.U.”

  “It’s really part of the C.I.A., girlfriend,” Reader explained. “It’s above them, and considered a separate unit, does report directly to the President. But the paychecks come out of Langley.”

  “I hate bureaucracy.”

  “But we’re all so good at it.” Reader grinned. “Stop sulking. There’ll be plenty of time to harangue Jeff about this later.”

  We reached the gates, and someone calibrated. I ignored it while Martini kissed me good-bye. As always, even though it wasn’t long, it was great. “Behave,” he said with a smile. He looked over to the gate agent. “No one, not even Commander Katt, is to go where we’re going.”

  “Yes, sir.” This particular A-C was one of the Security types. They were all bigger than Martini and had that bored but focused way about them. I wasn’t going anywhere, at least nowhere near the C.I.A.

  We were at a larger gate, and they went through together. We watched them slowly fade away. I controlled myself from tossing cookies or trying to pull them back, and then Reader and I headed back to the Bat Cave level.

  No sooner had we exited than Queen’s “My Best Friend” came on my cell phone. “You haven’t changed that yet?” Reader asked as I dug my phone out of my purse.

  “No reason to, any more than I can’t hang around you. You two are my best guy friends, and he’s my oldest friend, too. Nothing more.”

  Reader shook his head. “Jeff doesn’t like it.”

  “I don’t like not getting to go to visit the C.I.A. It evens out.” I moved away from him as I answered. “Hi, Chuckie, what’s up?”

  “You okay?” He sounded worried. Of course, he’d sounded worried for the last several months, ever since I started being evasive about where I was, what I was doing, and who I was doing it with.

  “On top of the world. Why?”

  “Just curious. You going to the class reunion?”

  “Are you high?”

  He snorted. “No major lifestyle changes over here.”

  “Okay, good. And, of course I’m not going.” I considered. “Were you planning to?” I couldn’t imagine why. Chuckie had been, and still was, the most brilliant guy in any room. High school had been four years of torture for him. I still wasn’t sure why he hadn’t just taken the tests and headed for college when we were both freshmen, but he’d stuck it out.

  Of course, he could win either the Least Likely to Succeed or the Class Hero awards now. Possibly both. He’d gone from short, acne-suffering, thick-glasses-wearing geek to six-foot-plus, clear-skinned, contact-lens-wearing handsome guy by the middle of our freshman year at Arizona State University. He’d also become a multimillionaire twice over. And had somehow remained the same sweet, cool, fun, supportive, and protective person he’d always been.

  “Not really.” He sounded evasive. “Thought I might if you were going, though.”

  “Well, if I change my mind somehow, I’ll let you know.” Or rather, if Martini changed my mind, but the chances were slim and I didn’t want to mention the possibility. Because I hadn’t told Chuckie about Martini yet. I hadn’t even told him I was seriously involved with anyone. Because he’d want to meet my new guy, and there was no way I could lie to Chuckie face-to-face about anything, let alone about aliens really being on the planet. Martini knew this and didn’t care for it. At all. Not that he wanted me to out him to Chuckie, but that Chuckie knew me so well and I was keeping them away from each other bothered Martini in the extreme.

  “Sounds good. So, how’s work?” He sounded like he wasn’t expecting me to be truthful at all.

  “Fine.” Well, this was true. Sure, I wasn’t working as a marketing manager any more, but still, I was being truthful about liking what I did now. “Busy. How’s stock trading going?”

  “Fine. Busy.” He chuckled. “You know how it is.”

  “Not really, but I’ll trust you on it.”

  He was quiet for a moment. “Yeah. I’ll trust you on yours, too. Kitty?”

  “Yes?”

  “Promise me that if you get into something you can’t handle, if you’re in danger you really can’t get out of, trapped in a situation you feel you can’t escape from, or if you’re unhappy for any reason, that you’ll call me right away and let me help you.”

  This was both totally in character and weird at the same time. Chuckie had always been there for me, since the first day of high school, and I’d been there for him. But this request had come out of nowhere.

  “Dude, you know I don’t go to frat parties and drink from the open tub of Jungle Juice any more.”

  “So you claim. I want your promise, Kitty.” Chuckie’s voice was in his “won’t take no for an answer” tone, meaning he meant business.

  I swallowed hard—I got into trouble on a regular basis these days, sometimes on an hourly basis. Sure, I’d always handled it, or Martini had been there to save me. But still, in the past, I’d called Chuckie when I was in over my head.

  An almost overwhelming desire to tell him what was going on washed over me. He’d been called Conspiracy Chuck by everyone but me when we were in high school and by half of everyone we knew in college. In part because he’d always believed aliens were on the planet. He was my oldest friend, and I wanted so badly to let him know he’d been right all this time.

  But I had a scary-high security clearance for a reason, and that clearance didn’t allow me to tell Chuckie anything about what I did now. I took a deep breath, let it out, and shoved the guilt and desire down and away. “I promise. Same for you, you know. If you need me, let me know and I’ll be there.” Okay, I pushed the desire to tell away. The guilt seemed to enjoy hanging on.

  He sighed. “I hope so.” He cleared his throat. “You be careful.”

  “You, too. Chuckie?”

  “Yeah?”

  “You’ll always be my friend, right?”

  I could hear the smile in his voice. “Right.”

  “Then everything’s right with my world.”

  “Mine too, Kitty,” he said slowly. “Mine too.”

  CHAPTER 5

  WE HUNG UP, and I felt worried for no good reason. It was close to time to go to my parents’, and I had no idea how long Martini was going to be.

  On cue my phone rang. “You’re really stressed,” Martini said, in a low voice. “Why?” I got the impression he wasn’t alone and didn’t want this call broadcast.

  “Oh, just wondering if we’re going to be late for dinner.” I wondered if he could pick up that I was lying fro
m this far away and prayed he couldn’t.

  “Right.” He didn’t sound like he’d bought it. Damn. “Our contact held us up calling his girlfriend,” Martini snarled. “So we’re going to be here longer.”

  “You’re calling your girlfriend,” I pointed out. Not that I had any idea of why I felt defending the nameless C.I.A. bigwig mattered. An interesting thought occurred. “Ooooh. Is he married and do you think he was calling his mistress?”

  “This isn’t Desperate Housewives,” Martini snapped. “And no, to my knowledge, he’s not married. Looking to trade up?”

  “I’ve got the leader of the A-C pack. No need to make roster changes at this time.” Let alone to some likely old, paunchy, balding guy who probably resembled a mangy ferret. At least, if I took how Martini and Christopher tended to describe anyone and everyone at the C.I.A. as an example.

  “I’m so relieved.” Martini’s sarcasm meter was already at full. I felt bad for Mr. C.I.A. Dude.

  “Jeff, relax. What’s our status for tonight?”

  He sighed. “Go ahead to your parents’ without me, baby.”

  “You sure I shouldn’t wait for you?”

  “I’ll be there as soon as I can, but trust me, it’s going to take either a floater gate or hyperspeed.”

  “Okay! I’ll head right over now. Can I take my car?”

  “Sure. I love you.”

  “I love you, too, Jeff.”

  “Good to know.” He sounded happier as we hung up than when he’d called, which was good.

  I had my purse, and my parents didn’t stand on ceremony, so no need to change. I headed for the top level, where, among other things, the motor pool was stored. The top level at the Science Center was actually the ground floor—the Center went down fifteen stories. The A-Cs had really done wondrous things with simulated lighting—it always seemed like proper daylight when it was supposed to.

  I retrieved my car—a black Lexus IS300, stick shift, leather interior, turned on a dime, zero to sixty in a lot faster than I’d ever admit to a cop or my father. I loved my car. It stood out in the motor pool, too. Almost every vehicle the A-Cs had was a shade of gray. They’d never explained why, and the answer was still low on my long list of things to find out.

  Had to do the slow, horrible gate transfer from Dulce to Caliente Base. I’d long ago stopped trying to be macho about it and closed my eyes the moment it started. I could always tell when it was over—my stomach settled down.

  Caliente Base was smaller than the Science Center, but it was still a typical A-C base, meaning the top floor was ground level and everything else went down from there. Of course, “smaller” was a relative term. I had no clear idea of how huge the Science Center really was, but I’d been there for five months and knew I hadn’t explored every part of every floor yet—and not because I wasn’t interested. Because I always got lost. I had the distinct impression it was the equivalent of fifteen Pentagons, maybe more.

  Caliente Base was merely very, very large. It was built on a supposed alien crash site. I tried not to think of Chuckie and failed. We’d hiked around here when we were younger, searching for said site, but hadn’t found the entrance. I assumed it had been cloaked—the A-Cs had alien technology that would have made the Star Trek people sue for copyright infringement if they’d ever found out about it.

  Like the Science Center and every other A-C base, the motor pool was on the ground level. I waved merrily and headed out for real daylight. It felt the same as A-C light.

  I enjoyed the drive to my parents’ house. It almost felt alien, to drive myself through the streets of Pueblo Caliente at a normal rate of speed. No gates, no hyperspeed, no limo with someone else acting as driver.

  My phone rang. Happily, one of the many A-C bells and whistles that had been added onto my car was a hands-free system. It resided on automatic answer. “Hello?”

  “Hey, Kit-Kat! How’s things back in the ’burg?” It was Caroline, my sorority roommate. We still used our sorority nicknames because, well, they fit.

  “Yo, Caro Syrup! Sunny and smiling, as always. What’s up?”

  “I got the job!” she squealed.

  I squealed back. Then reality hit. “Um . . . what job?”

  She laughed. “With the senator. I told you about it.” I thought frantically. She had. Caroline was a lot better with the written correspondence than I was. She sent notes to every girl in our pledge class, her sister-line up and down, and anyone else from the sorority she’d liked, which was pretty much everyone, at least once a quarter. Individual notes. Handwritten. And somehow, she found time to work, eat, and sleep.

  “Oh, right. That’s great. When do you start?”

  “This week. Had my orientation and everything.”

  “Make sure no one turns you into the Lurid Intern Story of the Week.”

  She snorted. “Our senator’s not like that. He’s a sweetie and very protective, and his wife’s really involved. She’s awesome. And a sister,” she added a tad reproachfully.

  Sluggish memory reared its head. Our sorority had a lot of successful alumnae, and one of them had indeed married the senior senator from Arizona. “Great that she helped you land the job.”

  “Oh, your mom and Chuck helped, too. I saw him for lunch, by the way. He’s looking great.”

  “The senator?” What was my mother doing helping anyone get a job? She’d never helped me get a job. I assumed Caroline had used Chuckie for a reference. References from rich, brilliant guys were always good to have.

  “Wow, are you in the middle of something?”

  “Only driving.”

  “Well, pull over and pay attention. I see the senator every day now. No, I had lunch with Chuck.”

  “Oh.” A thought occurred. “Are you two dating?”

  “No, you have nothing to worry about,” she said with a laugh.

  “Huh?”

  She sighed. “You know what I love most about you?”

  “My musical tastes?”

  “Yes, but no. You never change.”

  “I think I should resent that.”

  “Don’t. I have to go. Give my love to your parents, and tell your mom thanks.”

  “Will do. Keep me posted on stuff.”

  “Will do. Chuck looks great,” she added.

  “Good to hear. He’s in D.C.?” This was normally the part of the year when Chuckie was in Australia most or all of the time.

  “Yes.” The way she said it, I could hear the “duh.”

  “Well, you could’ve been in Australia.”

  Caroline laughed. “Or in Paraguay.”

  “Hold that thought and don’t hang up!” I pulled over and parked. “What do you mean about Paraguay?”

  “Oh, there was a military action there today. The government’s concerned. It seems to be under control, but it’s the usual ‘do we need to get involved’ stuff. The senator might be sent down there as part of an investigative committee. He says it’s a waste of time, but if he goes, I get to go, too, so I’m sort of hoping it happens.”

  “Keep me in the loop on that, will you?”

  “It’s kind of classified. I probably shouldn’t have told you this much.”

  “I already knew about it.”

  She was quiet for a moment. “News travels fast.” “You have no idea. Just keep me apprised of what you can, okay? As a sort of sister favor?”

  She sighed. “Will do.” Well, it was something. Maybe I finally had a Washington “insider” on my speed dial. “Now I really have to go. Catch you later, Kit-Kat!”

  “Talk to you in a few, Caro Syrup!”

  We hung up. and I sat there for a few minutes. I wasn’t hooked into the governmental stuff like Martini and Christopher were. For all I knew, the U.S. government always “got concerned’ when we had superbeing activity and those in the know did the whole “it’s no biggie” thing. Which would indicate that our senator was in the know. Which begged the “who all is in the know” question.

  Well,
I was having dinner with the right people to ask.

  CHAPTER 6

  I GOT BACK ON THE ROAD and pulled up in front of my parents’ house in a few minutes. I stared at it. I’d grown up here—standard middle-class tract home. Two stories, two-car garage, about twenty-five hundred square feet. Not tiny but not huge, either. Typical desert landscaping out front consisting of river rocks and a variety of cacti.

  For most of my life I’d figured I’d end up living in a similar type of house. Maybe a little bigger or smaller, maybe in a different city, even, but similar. Where I lived and what I did was in no way similar. But I liked it.

  My father was playing catch with our four dogs in the backyard. I didn’t have to see it—I could hear it. Our dogs lived to bark, and they had different barks for everything. They were clearly on, “Toy! Toy! Throw the toy!” as opposed to “Dangerous Intruder” or “Kitty is home, time to slobber!” I was grateful. I loved my dogs, but I wasn’t in the mood to shower.

  I found Mom in the kitchen. “Hi, kitten, where’s Jeff?” One of our cats, Sugarfoot, was sitting on the counter helping her, or at least mooching food. He purred as I came in, and I slung him over my shoulder.

  “Held up at C.I.A. headquarters. He’ll be here as soon as he can.” I gave her a peck. “What’s for dinner?”

  “I made a rib roast in honor of your first solo.”

  “Yum.” Our other two cats, Candy and Kane, came in for pets. I so petted and was rewarded with a lot of purring. One drawback to living in the Science Center was the No Pets Long-Term rule. I missed having the critters around all the time. “Caroline called.”

  “How is she?”

  “Excited. She got the job with the senator, asked me to thank you.”

  Mom smiled. “Good, she’s a very capable girl.”

  “So, you helped her get a job but not me?”

  “You have a job.”

  “You know what I mean. She said Chuckie helped her, too.” Come to think of it, Chuckie had never helped me get a job, either. Apparently my nearest and dearest either though I was Ms. Capable or didn’t want their reputations sullied by referring me for anything. Sadly, I voted with option number two.