Alien Collective Page 3

  “Wow. Cryptic. Not a help, mind you, but cryptic nonetheless.”

  “Let’s get inside, Missus Chief. All will be explained shortly.”

  “I guess I should be glad we’re at Mona’s embassy instead of at police headquarters.”

  “No,” Buchanan said darkly. “You should be glad you’re in a safe location as opposed to being dead.”

  Let that sit on the air for a bit. “You mind explaining that?”

  “No, but not here.” And with that Buchanan took my arm and, accompanied by Prince, we headed into the Bahraini embassy.

  CHAPTER 4

  FROM THE OUTSIDE, the Bahraini embassy was nothing much to look at. The inside, however, was very different.

  Romania’s entryway was very Old World Austere, but it’s upper levels were Old World Homey. Our entryway was basically plain, if you ignored the marble floors, because our first floor was where we did all the “human” things. That’s where the kitchen, dining room, and a lot of offices were, so our entryway led into a long hallway. Once inside, our Embassy was basically Upscale Model Home.

  The Bahraini embassy’s entryway was opulent and beautiful. It looked almost like you were entering a very expensive luxury hotel lobby—the kind regular people can’t afford to enter, let alone stay at. There were chandeliers, comfortable looking settees, chairs, and loveseats, cherrywood coffee and end tables, lots of Turkish rugs, and a very full bookcase along one wall. The visitor’s reception desk resembled a high-end concierge setup. Basically, this embassy’s décor was Old Money.

  Embassy staff were always in nicely tailored, expensive suits, so in that way they resembled American Centaurion. Unlike the A-Cs, who were love slaves to black and white and Armani, the Bahrainis got to wear other designers. All of them high end.

  We didn’t linger in the lobby, but were ushered into a larger sitting room off to one side. It was almost a duplicate of the lobby, only three times as big, with three walls of bookcases and some couches and fancy tea services on even fancier rolling trays added in.

  Large or not, we had a lot of people, and the room, while not packed, seemed full. Looked around. The Bahraini ambassador wasn’t present. Neither were many of the men I’d sort of expected to see, such as my husband. However, Hacker International were here, along with the rest of our Embassy personnel. Including Walter Ward, who was our Embassy Head of Security and who was the last guy in the world ever willing to leave his post. This, combined with the presence of all the Embassy Daycare kids, was beyond worrisome.

  “Malcolm, seriously, what’s going on? Why are we here instead of police headquarters or, better, the protest we were actually attending? And what the hell is Walter doing here?”

  Buchanan looked around. Either my question had caught most of the room’s attention, or everyone knew that Buchanan was going to be the one who shared what the hell was going on. “Everyone’s accounted for?” Len and Kyle both nodded. “Including the congressman and your boss?”

  This was starting to bode more than it already had. The congressman was my husband, and Len and Kyle’s boss was Charles Reynolds, aka the head of the C.I.A.’s Extra-Terrestrial Division and my best guy friend since ninth grade. Of course, Chuckie worked with Jeff all the time. Maybe I was worried for nothing.

  “Yes,” Len replied. “They’re with the rest of Alpha Team, the head of the P.T.C.U., the head of Special Immigration Services for Homeland Security, and the head of the FBI’s Alien Affairs Division.”

  So much for that worried for nothing idea. Things were definitely serious if my mother was involved. Because, as I’d learned only about four and a half years ago, my mother wasn’t just a consultant, she was the anti-terrorism consultant and the head of the very kick-butt and also very clandestine Presidential Terrorism Control Unit. Meaning if the P.T.C.U. was involved, things were likely to be looking grim. That combined with Clifford Goodman and Evander Horn, from Homeland Security and the F.B.I. respectively, being with Jeff and Chuckie boded. A lot. The fact that Buchanan and Len were using official titles versus everyone’s names boded more. Tried not to worry. Failed.

  “Fine. Okay, Missus Chief, we got a tip that the anti-Cleary-Maurer rally was going to be a target of attack from our favorite homegrown terrorists.”

  “You mean Club Fifty-One and the Church of Intolerance were going to share their version of righteous wrath while at the same time coming out in total favor of the Hate Party Ticket?”

  “Yes. And, unsurprisingly, American Centaurion personnel were presumed to be the targets.”

  I was good with catching words that shouldn’t belong. “Presumed. So, were we targets, or were we hustled off by the police to get us out of the way so we didn’t become targets?”

  “In part, yes. To both questions. However—”

  Took the leap. “However, the rally was a great time to presume that most of our staff would be elsewhere and therefore they tried to attack our Embassy. Which has really nifty invisible shielding, I’m forced to mention.”

  “It also has tunnels leading into it,” Buchanan said. “Evacuation was deemed necessary—evacuation of everyone, Walter included—and our good friend the Ambassadress,” he nodded toward Mona, “offered the safety of her embassy.”

  “So, was the rest of our area evacuated or just us? And where are my dad and our Embassy Animals?” We had my parent’s four dogs and three cats, two dozen Alpha Four Royal Peregrines, and more Royal Poofs than you could count in a day. That was a lot of fur and feathers I wanted to remain intact and safe. Not to mention my father, who was both a history professor on sabbatical from Arizona State University and, naturally for my life, a secret cryptologist for NASA. What Dad wasn’t, though, was a kick-butt type.

  My phone rang before anyone could answer. In part because I was in the Female Standard Issue Clothing—white Armani oxford shirt, black Armani slim skirt, and black Aerosole pumps—and in part because of all the “fun” at the protest, my purse was hooked over my neck, which was why I hadn’t lost it during all the brouhaha. Considered taking it off while I dug around for my phone and decided to stick with the likely idea that I’d need its contents sooner as opposed to later.

  Pulled my phone out on the third ring and took a look. Blocked number. This usually indicated I was getting a chatty call from someone trying to kill me or other people I cared about.

  “Answer it, on speaker,” Buchanan said quietly.

  Did as requested. “Hello?”

  “Ambassador?” Wasn’t a voice I recognized. It was high-pitched.

  “Maybe. Who’s this?”

  “Ambassador Katt-Martini of American Centaurion?”

  “Could be, could be. Who are you?”

  “A friend.” Still high-pitched. Faked, for certain. Sounded like someone trying to imitate Julia Child. Meaning it was probably a man trying to sound like a woman. Or else Julia was calling from beyond the grave. The way my luck ran, I didn’t rule this possibility out.

  Buchanan made the “keep them talking” motion. Rarely an issue for me. I was great with keeping the baddies monologuing. He pulled something out of his pocket and plugged it into my phone’s audio jack. The small, blinking device didn’t affect the call.

  “My friends identify who they are or I’m able to recognize their voices. So far, you’re not really falling into my Friend Zone.”

  “I will shortly. You need to leave the protest.”

  Shared a “what the hell?” look with Buchanan and several other people around me. “Um, why?”

  “It’s not safe. For anyone, but for you especially.”

  There were a lot of people, and dogs, in here, so it wasn’t silent. But the room didn’t sound like an outdoor protest, either. And from experience, you could tell when someone had you on speakerphone. So either the caller wasn’t paying attention or he was playing stupid for a reason.

  “Where are you? At the protest, too?” They couldn’t be, because we hadn’t exactly been quiet about being dragged off into the p
olice van. Someone had to have seen us, probably a lot of someones. And I heard no background noise at all—they weren’t on speaker, and they weren’t with a noisy crowd.

  “No. I’m at . . . headquarters.” My caller cleared his throat. Probably hard to keep up the Julia Child impersonation for this long. “You need to get to safety.”

  “Why?”

  “Because they want to hurt you.”

  “Who are ‘they’ and why are you warning me?”

  “You need to stop taking an interest in the elections. They’ll leave you alone if you stay out of it.”

  “Blah, blah, blah. I doubt it.”

  “Why aren’t you taking this seriously?”

  “Dude, I get weird phone calls like this all the time. Sometimes they’re from crazed psychopaths, sometimes they’re from friends in trouble, sometimes they’re just from crazy people who have time to kill and have chosen me in their version of Phone Russian Roulette.”

  “I’m not a ‘dude.’”

  Interesting where you got them. “Uh, you’re faking your voice. Or else you’re Julia Child, and if you are, then I’d like to request an easy-to-make recipe that the whole family will enjoy that will not cause me to burn down my kitchen.”

  “This isn’t a funny situation! And I’m not faking my voice. This is my voice.”

  “Suuuuuure it is. I believe you. Truly.”

  Mona and Olga were talking quietly to each other and Oliver. Decided they’d let me know if their conversation was relevant or not later.

  “You need to believe me! I’m taking a terrible risk contacting you. If he finds out . . .” Julia Child dropped her voice. “He’ll kill me.”

  “So the drama. Okay, you tell me who the hell you are, so I know why I should believe you. And, if you’re really telling the truth, we’ll protect you. How about that?”

  Buchanan gave me another “what the hell” look. I ignored him.

  There was noise on the other end of the phone. Reminiscent of when Karl Smith had been on the line with me right before he’d been murdered during Operation Drug Addict. Got another bad feeling in my stomach because I was pretty sure my mysterious caller was no longer alone.

  “I’ll speak with you later, dear,” my caller said cheerfully. “Thank you for supporting the Cleary-Maurer presidential campaign. We look forward to your generous donation.” The line went dead.

  Buchanan pulled his device out of my phone and plugged it into his.

  “You think that was really a woman and really her voice?” Lorraine asked me.

  “No guess. You think he/she/it was really associated with the Cleary-Maurer campaign?”

  “Yes,” Mona said. “We recognize the voice.”

  Olga nodded. “It is a woman, about my age.”

  “Really? A woman? You’re sure?” They nodded. “Okay, I’ll bite. Who?”

  Oliver opened his mouth to answer, but Buchanan spoke first. “That call originated from the Cleary-Maurer campaign headquarters.”

  Oliver nodded. “Not a surprise. I believe what is a surprise, and the question that needs to be answered, is—why is Cameron Maurer’s mother calling to warn Kitty away from this campaign?”

  “I’ve got another question. Was she calling to warn us, to trap us, or to ask for help?” Another thought occurred. “Or was she, in fact, using the same equipment as Malcolm in order to determine our position?”

  CHAPTER 5

  WAITED FOR THE SOUND of incoming bombs. None. Figured this just meant they’d launched the slow missiles. “Should we evacuate again?”

  Buchanan shook his head. “Your embassy isn’t safe to reenter right now.”

  “We could go to Dulce,” Lorraine pointed out.

  “No.” The way Buchanan said it, I assumed this meant that the Powers That Were My Mother, My Husband, and My Best Guy Friend had said they wanted us to remain right here.

  Took a deep breath. “Okay, in this order, I want these answers. Where is my father? Where are all the Embassy pets? Why is my embassy unsafe? Where are the other people who I’d expect to be here who are not in this room? And what the hell is going on?”

  Oren cleared his throat. “Your father and your pets are in our embassy, Ambassador.”

  Leah grinned. “We’re a little more pet friendly.”

  “There are half a dozen K-9 dogs in here. Mona appears to be quite pet friendly.”

  Mona laughed. “Your father has an old friend in town who is staying at the Israeli embassy, Kitty. He wanted the animals with him because he feels they would feel safer.”

  “My dad actually said that? And with a straight face?”

  “Honestly?” Jakob asked. I nodded. “Yes, he did. I think he misses his dogs and cats and just wanted to show the Poofs and Peregrines off. It’s not everyone who has not one but two alien animal races as part of their menagerie, after all. They’re quite a hit, so don’t worry about them, or him. Your father is under very capable guard.”

  Meaning other Mossad agents were there. Which was good and also made sense—Mom was the only non-Israeli, non-Jew to ever be in Mossad. A long story I still didn’t have all of, but I figured it was Old Home Week for Mossad and Dad was starting the party early.

  “Rahmi and Rhee are with him as well,” Raj said. “We felt that they would enjoy the company of Mossad, and they’re also guarding your father.”

  Rahmi and Rhee were princesses from Beta Twelve in the Alpha Centauri system, aka the Planet of the Getting Less Pissed Off Amazons. They’d been sent to us by the Planetary Council during Operation Sherlock, under the guise of attending Jamie’s first birthday party.

  Due to some issues going on both here and there, we hadn’t found a way to send them back. So, they’d become a part of our diplomatic mission, and were getting much better with the idea that all men were not enemies to be instantly smashed. They’d really bonded with my dad, which wasn’t a shocker, since they worshipped Mom and he was married to her.

  I’d been smart enough to not allow them anywhere near the protest, and unlike every single, solitary other person in my circle, they actually followed my orders. They lived to kick butt—which was why I’d kept them far away from the protest, lest they turn it into a riot—and sending them to the Mossad Kegger seemed like their version of heaven, so Raj was right on as always.

  So, Dad and the animals were safer than safe, and I could table concerns about all of them for later, including wondering why none of the animals had shown up to protect any of us. Since the Poofs and Peregrines were both bred for protection, it seemed odd that none of them had tried to at least warn us we were going into danger. But I had other, more pressing, questions.

  “That’s two down, three to go. Where are my husband and the rest of those who I’d expect to see here, or, rather, expect to be in my embassy at some time?”

  “Safe,” Len said. “They’re in Langley. All of them.”

  “So, there is not one living soul in our embassy?” Many heads shook. “Because my embassy isn’t safe, right?” Many heads nodded. “So, how is one of the most secure buildings on Earth compromised?”

  Officer Melville took this one. “We—and by ‘we’ I mean the K-9 team, all of us—received a tip that a dangerous package had been delivered to your embassy, Ambassador.”

  “That old ruse again? We have equipment that can safely check for bombs, don’t we? And by ‘we’ I mean Centaurion Division, along with the Washington P.D. Bomb Squad.”

  Melville nodded. “Yes, but the tip was from a rather, ah, unconventional source. Sent to all of our cell phones at the same time. From an untraceable number.” He shot me a meaningful look. At least I assumed he was waggling his eyebrows to be meaningful. Either that or he had bad gas he was holding in. Hoped I was right to go with the former.

  “What did this message actually say?” And who would know to send a message about American Centaurion being in danger to the K-9 squad? And why to the police at all? Why not to Alpha Team?

  Melville hande
d me his phone. Officer Moe, my niece’s home has been compromised with deadly gas. Please remove every living thing instantly or we will be forced to take steps. Then please ensure that her home is safe for all living things as soon as possible or we will again be forced to take steps.

  Ah. That’s who. My “uncles,” the two best assassins in the business. Nice to know they were keeping a very watchful eye on me. Nice, creepy, and worrisome at the same time. Awesome, I got the trifecta on this. “Wow. They are that good.”

  “How so?” Buchanan asked.

  “I don’t think I ever called Officer Melville ‘Moe’ in front of my ‘uncles,’ and yet they know what I called him during the first time we all met, so to speak. I’m hella impressed. And, yeah, okay, this would make me grab everyone and run, too.”

  Melville nodded. “We knew this had to be legit because either they’d heard you call me that or you’d told them. Either way—”

  “They were right,” Buchanan said.

  “Why did they contact the police?” Amy asked. “I mean, for bombs, yes. But why not tell Kitty? Why not call James, or Malcolm?”

  “I got a message,” Buchanan said. “Mine was brief. ‘Your job is in deadly danger and should visit the Middle East immediately.’ So when Melville called me, it seemed obvious.”

  “Ah, that’s why.”

  Everyone looked at me. “Mind explaining that?” Claudia asked.

  “My ‘uncles’ knew Officer Melville would call Malcolm. So they could get him moving on getting all of us out of public and to somewhere other than home, with the full cooperation of the police department.” Had to hand it to Peter the Dingo Dog and Surly Vic—they were hella efficient and totally in the know.

  Speaking of which, Lillian Culver was in the room and I only had her where I wanted her politically because of said “uncles.” Wasn’t sure if this was a good conversation to be having within her hearing. Then again, it was probably confirming that they could kill her at this very moment if they wanted to. Which brought up another point.

  “Um, that means they’re in town, doesn’t it? And they didn’t call or anything to let me know they were coming.”