Touched by an Alien Page 8

  “Depends. This one’s in control, so it’s hard to say.”

  We got closer, and Reader braked, hard. I followed his lead but ended up ahead of him. “What’s wrong?”

  Reader looked pale. “It’s Mephistopheles.”

  CHAPTER 10

  “WHO’S MEPHISTOPHELES? You mean like Faust’s devil?”

  Reader nodded and pointed to the superbeing who was stomping around the tarmac. We were close enough to see that he was trying to stomp on people—and two of those people were Christopher and my mother.

  I took a closer look. We were near what looked like the air freight section, and there were floodlights all over the place, so seeing was easy. The superbeing was big, easily twelve feet tall, which made me wonder how he got around New York without tanks and artillery showing up on a daily basis. He resembled a huge faun, with a goat body for the lower half and a human torso and head. His arms looked human, but his fingers ended in claws, similar to those of the dead superbeing I’d seen at the warehouse. He had huge bat wings and they, like the rest of him, were blood red. The hair covering his lower body was also this color. Curling horns came out of his forehead, and his face wasn’t all that pleasant to look at—not ugly, but so far from human and contorted with so much hatred your eyes just wanted to look away.

  “So, you know this thing?”

  “Yeah. He’s the strongest of the in-control superbeings.” Reader sounded totally freaked out. “We need some weapons.”

  “Which we don’t have, unless they’re invisible.” I started to wonder if pacifists ran this operation. Maybe we were supposed to talk the monster out of killing my mother.

  Martini and Gower were there now. As near as I could tell, this just meant Mr. Mephistopheles was getting a chance to stomp more people I knew, because I didn’t see them producing a gun or any other kind of weapon. They were just running around the thing, like Christopher and the other guys in Armani who were there. I counted seven, not including Martini and Gower.

  “Ram the legs with the carts.” I started mine up again and headed toward the monster. This was, I admitted as I “raced” along at about fifteen miles per hour, not the greatest plan. But it seemed better than running around aimlessly.

  I checked over my shoulder, Reader was right behind me. Good. He might be scared but he was willing to do something.

  I hooked my purse over my neck so I wouldn’t lose it. As we got closer, I could hear the monster—he was talking.

  At least, I thought it was language. It wasn’t something I understood, though I got the impression the A-C crew did because they seemed to be reacting to whatever it was Mephistopheles snarled at them.

  My mother spotted me. She and Christopher were together; he had hold of her hand, and they were dodging the hooves. But when she saw me, she stopped, pulled away from Christopher, and stood still. Then she started shouting at the monster. “Hey! Ugly! Over here!”

  I thought she was insane, until I realized that she’d figured out what Reader and I were trying to do and was working as a distraction, so the monster wouldn’t turn around.

  She got Mephistopheles’ attention. I had a feeling he was after her more than any of the A-C crew anyway. She backed away, but he was coming for her. As she moved I saw she still had her purse, too, over her neck just like me. She reached inside it and pulled out a gun.

  Reader and I were close to the hooves now, and we both put the pedal down. For these carts, it meant we might have hit seventeen miles an hour now. Whoo hoo. But it couldn’t hurt and might help.

  I hit the right hoof first, and Reader hit the left a couple of seconds later. It didn’t knock Mephistopheles down, but it did shove him off-balance. He started teetering. I decided getting out might be a good idea, and Reader seemed to agree. We both jumped at the same time.

  This left the carts on their own. They stopped, which turned out to be a good thing. Mephistopheles was off balance and he stepped back, right onto the cart I’d been in. But it wasn’t solid, and it caused him to go down, butt first, right onto the entire baggage cart Reader had been driving.

  Reader was next to me now. “How do we kill this thing?” I asked while we moved around the rest of the baggage cart I’d been driving.

  “No idea. Newly formed ones like you and I took out are easy. Aim for the parasite.”

  “The jellyfish thing.”

  “Right. But if they manage to remain in control, the jellyfish moves inside the body, and it could be anywhere.”

  “Okay. Then how do we all get away alive?” I was willing to retreat. I had no ego attached to dying nobly.

  “We run like hell. But everyone’s tired. Only Paul probably has any energy left, since you and Jeff took a side trip.”

  “How’d you know about that?”

  “I know Jeff, and you’ve changed clothes. You aren’t the only smart one around, you know.”

  “Oh, duh. Okay, so no one’s got any hyperspeed left. The carts are smooshed, and we walk faster. Um, any ideas?”

  “Pray someone has a gun in their bags,” Reader offered.

  I looked at the bags. Most people packed their checked bags as I did—as if they were going on a year-long trip and had to cram everything they owned inside in order to survive. They were likely to weigh a ton each. It was crazy, but no crazier than using a pen to kill one of these things.

  “Grab the bags and start heaving them at him.” I tried to follow my own advice, but these things were heavy as lead.

  Reader didn’t argue. He just grabbed the other end of the bag I was trying to move. We swung it back and forth and then launched it, just as Mephistopheles tried to stand up.

  Score! Hit his knee, and it caused him some problems. We grabbed the next bag and did the same.

  Some of the A-C crew saw what we were doing and came over. I didn’t know any of them, but I did get to remind myself that if I died right now, I’d be surrounded by five hunks and so could possibly go happy.

  Mephistopheles caught on to what we were doing and started to bat at the flying luggage. This caused us to have to dodge hurtling suitcases, but it also meant he was focused on us, not my mother.

  I would have been happy about this, only Mom wasn’t cooperating. Instead of running away, she headed toward him. She waited until she was in close, then started firing.

  The bullets hit, but they didn’t penetrate. She used the entire clip, popped it out, reached back, pulled another clip from somewhere, put it in, and fired again. This time, instead of aiming for his torso, she went for the head.

  Better results, but still, it was more of a distraction than a deterrent. And he paid more attention to her than to our assault with the Luggage of Doom.

  Christopher, Martini, and Gower were by my mother now. I got the impression they were trying to get her off the offensive and into run away mode. It was certainly what I’d be suggesting right now. But she wasn’t having any of it.

  Mephistopheles got to his knees and swiped at my mother. I got scared I’d see him kill her. Fear, like tears, made me angry. I didn’t think about it, I just ran toward him. “Get away from my mother, you freak of nature!”

  Freak of nature is not necessarily the biggest insult one could hurl, but it sure seemed to offend Mephistopheles. He spun toward me, snarling. I still couldn’t understand him, but his expression said it clearly—he didn’t care for me.

  He reached out and grabbed me. His grip wasn’t pleasant, but he wasn’t crushing me, either. He had my lower body, so my arms were free. I risked a look around as he stood up. Gower and Christopher each had one of my mother’s arms and were dragging her away. Reader was moving the other agents away. And Martini was headed right for us.

  I had no idea what he thought he was going to do, but I didn’t have a lot of time to ponder, as Mephistopheles brought me up to face level. His eyes were horrible, but as he stared at me I saw them change and look more human. “You are trouble,” he said, and it was in English.

  “Your breath stin
ks. What’s your point?” Twelve feet of scary fugly, and this was the best statement he could come up with?

  His eyes narrowed. “You won’t be trouble much longer.” He opened his mouth, and I got the distinct impression he was going to try to bite my head off.

  The hell with that. I fumbled in my purse and my hand hit my hairspray. Why not? It hurt if I got it in my own eyes. Besides, I didn’t have any mace. I pulled it out, flipped off the cap, and sprayed, right into his mouth and eyes.

  “GAAHHHH!” he screamed as he let go.

  I didn’t have time to scream as I fell. But I didn’t have to. I didn’t hit pavement, I hit Martini.

  “Can we go now?” he asked, as he turned and ran.

  “How do we stop that thing?” I watched Mephistopheles stomp around, gagging and rubbing his eyes.

  “We have no idea, though no one but you has ever tried hairspray.” We reached the others, who were all together.

  Martini set me down and Mom grabbed me. “What did you think you were doing?” She hugged me tight.

  “Could ask you the same thing. Mom, I can’t breathe. You’re squeezing tighter than our monster friend.”

  “Dammit,” Gower said. I pulled away from Mom and looked in the same direction he was. Mephistopheles was shrinking.

  “Isn’t this good? He’s getting smaller.”

  “He’s going back to human form,” Martini said, his voice clipped.

  “Great. Let’s stop him while he’s our size.” I wasn’t seeing the problem.

  “No, let’s get out of here,” my mother said, with a lot of authority. How had she been put in charge?

  The men agreed, and we all started moving. I kept turning around. Mephistopheles was smaller, only about nine feet now, and shrinking all the time. The wings were gone, the horns, too.

  “Why are we running away? Why aren’t we killing that?”

  Martini grabbed my hand, presumably to keep me from racing back. “He’s invulnerable in his human form, too.”

  “And he’s the head of the Al Dejahl terrorist organization,” my mother added angrily.

  “Who?” Second time today the same group I’d never heard of was mentioned, but then, I wasn’t a big follower of international politics. “Isn’t the, ah, terrorist I stopped supposed to be from that same place?”

  “Yes,” Christopher snapped. “They’re the easiest terrorists to blame anything on, because they’re thrilled to take the credit.”

  “Isn’t that making them more powerful, though?”

  “We’re fighting a war, princess.”

  “Badly, from all I can tell. So, who are these Al people?”

  “Al Dejahl,” Mom said in a pained tone. “It’s a worldwide terrorist organization. They make the news regularly.”

  “And not just from altered footage like today,” Gower added.

  “Yes, I guessed. What’s their deal? ‘Go their god’ or something?”

  “Why am I at all surprised you don’t know? They weren’t in a comic book, they don’t make rock CDs, and they aren’t known for their swimsuit calendars. Of course you don’t know who they are.” Mom’s sarcasm knob was turned to full. I figured I was one smart mouthed comment away from being grounded, even if I did live on my own.

  “Sorry, kind of overwhelmed here. And also wondering, still, who these guys are.” And why one of them was an in-control superbeing, but I figured I’d stick with one big question at a time.

  “They’ve got cells in, as near as we can tell, every country in the world,” she finally explained. “Some are single operatives, some are cells of twenty or thirty. Very mobile, very hard to catch. They aren’t religiously motivated, they just want the world in a state of chaos.”

  “Their leader is Ronaldo Al Dejahl. He’s one of the richest men in the world,” Christopher added. “You’d know him as Ronald Yates.”

  “So? Why can’t we kill him, especially because of all those things?” I didn’t see the downside to getting rid of a man who’d made his fortune in the porn industry and then gone legitimate by becoming the head of one of the biggest media empires around.

  “Killing a public figure’s sort of bad for the image,” Martini said. “There’s more to it, but can we please just get to safety?”

  I looked over my shoulder. I could see a man, now, not a monster. “He’s back looking human. Well, as human as he can be.” You couldn’t miss pictures of Yates. He was in his seventies but looked as if he were pushing ninety. He claimed to never drink, smoke, or indulge in any kinds of narcotics, but he constantly dated twenty year olds, making Hugh Hefner look like the poster boy for morality. However, he owned the media outlets, so they showed pictures of him all the time.

  “Wonderful job,” Martini muttered. “How the hell did this escalate?” he asked Christopher.

  “He was after her,” Christopher said, nodding toward my mother.

  Mom shrugged. “I wasn’t going to stand there and be an easy target.” She looked at me. “Nice new friends you’ve picked up. Homeland Security my ass.”

  “Nice gun you’ve picked up. Consultant my ass,” I shot back. Okay, so I decided to risk the smart mouth. I did live on my own, after all.

  She grinned. “I am a consultant.”

  “She just consults on counterterrorism,” Christopher added. He sounded impressed.

  We were back at the terminal, and I could see a lot of men in uniforms heading toward us. They weren’t universally handsome, which meant, I was pretty sure, we were in trouble. They all drew weapons.

  “How do we get out of this?”

  “You all shut up and let me handle it,” my mother snapped. “Put your hands up and stop running, now.”

  We did as she said as she stalked out to meet the oncoming throng, all of whom were pointing their guns right at us.

  “Federal officer!” my mother shouted, holding up something that looked like a thin wallet.

  “Federal officer?” I said under my breath. When had this happened?

  Reader was on my other side. “I told you it was an impressive file,” he whispered.

  Whoever was in charge came to my mother. None of their guns were down. “What’s going on?” he asked her.

  “I’m a federal officer, and if you don’t put those goddamned guns down right now, I’m going to make sure you all end up working night security at a Taco Bell.” My mother sounded both furious and completely in charge.

  The man shot a look at what she was holding up, nodded, and then lowered his gun. The rest of them did the same.

  “Holster your weapons!” Mom shouted. They all complied. I was impressed. Normally, I only saw her order me and my friends around like this.

  “What’s going on?” the man asked her again.

  “I’d love you to tell me,” Mom snarled. “We’re attacked and pursued by a terrorist faction, in the middle of JFK, after the government issued a level-red security threat, no less, and it takes you, what, thirty minutes to get your act together and come out to support? I want names, job histories, and excuses, in writing, on my desk tomorrow morning. You and your so-called team there might also want to spend some time praying you have good answers as to why your response time was so slow.”

  She jerked her head forward. “My team, roll out. We’re needed back at Headquarters. Remember,” she snapped at the leader of airport security, “on my desk by oh-nine-hundred tomorrow, or you’re all fired, without review.”

  With that, she stalked off, marching right through the guards, all of whom let her pass. The rest of us scurried after her. I hoped we looked official, but Mom’s little rant had apparently done the trick. We weren’t held up.

  We got inside the airport again, marching through as though we had somewhere very important to go. I wondered just how much of a letdown “destination bathroom” was going to be after all this.

  Christopher caught up with my mother, but we didn’t go to any of the restrooms. Instead, we headed outside, to a taxi stand. I noted that one of
the agents I didn’t know was carrying luggage, my mother’s if memory served.

  We waited about three seconds, and then two gray limos pulled up. The agent put Mom’s bags in the trunk of the first one, Christopher did his doorman thing, and Mom got in, followed by me, Martini and Gower. I made sure to be in the back facing front again, and Martini made sure he was next to me. Reader kicked the driver out of his seat, and Christopher took shotgun. We were rolling within thirty seconds. I looked behind us—the rest of the crew were in the second limo, following us.

  “Well, that was fun,” I said. “Now, who wants to go first and tell me what the hell is going on . . . Mom?”

  CHAPTER 11

  MOM LEANED BACK IN THE SEAT. “This thing equipped with anything to drink?” she asked Gower.

  He nodded, and Martini pulled out a bottle of Coke. “Straw?”

  “Sure, thanks,” Mom said. “I was hoping for something stronger, of course.”

  “Not safe yet, no need to be impaired,” Gower said.

  “I want some answers,” I said again. “Like right now. Mom, what is this, welcome to my secret life?”

  She sighed. “I didn’t want you to know until you were old enough.”

  “I’m twenty-seven. When did you think I’d be old enough, when I was forty?”

  “Maybe.” She smiled. “Your father doesn’t really know, either.”

  “You haven’t told Dad?” I was shocked to my core. As far as I knew, my parents had no secrets from each other. And now, here was my mother, Mrs. Rambo, and Dad had no idea.

  Martini leaned forward and offered his hand. “Jeff Martini. I plan to marry your daughter.”

  Mom laughed as she shook his hand. “Angela Katt. I want the write up of your full financial portfolio and family tree.”

  Martini grinned. “No worries, have it all ready.” He looked at me. “See? Your mother likes me.”

  “My mother’s apparently trained to take on the Terminator. Right now, her liking you doessn’t carry the same weight it usually does.”

  Mom rolled her eyes. “Kitty, stop being so dramatic. All parents have secrets from their children.”