by Gini Koch
“Jeff needs to fill a variety of Cabinet posts and then some,” Charles Reynolds said. He was the Head of the CIA’s Extra-Terrestrial Division. He was also my best guy friend since ninth grade. He’d been the focus of the Mastermind’s insanity, and since Clifford Goodman and his Goon Squad had escaped after Operation Epidemic, that meant we needed to keep Chuckie very safe while listening carefully and acting on his input.
“Starting with Vice President,” my mother said. She wasn’t saying this as my mother, of course, but as the Head of the Presidential Terrorism Control Unit. Yeah, my friends and family were definitely representing in the higher levels of government.
“Angela’s right as always, and we need to assign Embassy staff as well,” Doreen Coleman-Weisman said. She’d been raised in the American Centaurion Diplomatic Corps and was now our Ambassador, since I couldn’t do the job any longer. “I realize you’re going to say that you want me to choose, but under the circumstances, I want your input, Jeff, as well as Kitty’s. And everyone else’s, too, Chuck’s and Angela’s in particular.”
“I think we’re avoiding a key issue,” Evander Horn said. He was a handsome black man in his late fifties and the Director of the FBI’s Alien Affairs Division. “And not just because Doreen doesn’t want my input specifically.” He grinned at her and she laughed.
“What’s that, Vander?” Jeff asked.
Horn pointed to the end of the table where Alexander and the rest of the Planetary Council were sitting. “The people who accidentally triggered the Mastermind’s doomsday attempt. They came here for a reason, and we’re not even sure what that reason is.”
CHAPTER 2
ALEXANDER NODDED. “Yes, I suppose everything has been rather . . . jumbled. Rohini, if you would?”
This was directed to one of the two Shantanu, meaning one of the two giant, colorful penguin people in attendance. I’d liked Rohini from the moment we’d met him during Operation Civil War, and it wasn’t a surprise that he was functioning as Planetary Team Spokesbird. He reminded me very much of Alpha Four’s version of Winston Churchill, Councilor Leyton Leonidas, and our own Stealth Diplomat, Top Field Agent, and All-Around Ladies’ Man, the Former Supreme Pontifex of our Earth A-Cs, Richard White.
White was sitting next to Rohini, meaning he was far down the table from me, but of those in the room, he had the closest ties to the Alpha Centauri system, since he’d been born on Alpha Four.
Rohini put his flippers onto the table. “Our earlier stated intent, to ask Earth to join the greater galactic community, is the main reason we are here. However, we want Earth to join with us because we fear two things—repeated Z’porrah attacks and contact with other alien life from systems far from both of ours.”
The Z’porrah were an ancient race of dinobirds who had a deep-seated hatred of the Ancients, who were an ancient humanoid race of shape-shifters. Both races had meddled around with Earth and the inhabited Alpha Centauri planets, with the Ancients winning the overall war. However, we’d found Ancient turncoats working for the Z’porrah on several planets, including Earth. So the concern about the Z’porrah wasn’t surprising.
“What indication do you have that other sentient races might be contacting you or us?” Chuckie asked, covering the surprising portion.
“Since our solar system repelled the Z’porrah so forcefully, we have received numerous transmissions from planets around the galaxy. Apparently the Z’porrah are very unpopular.”
“Shocker.” Could tell by the expressions of several White House staffers in the room that I wasn’t the one who was supposed to be speaking right now. Oh well, they might as well learn how we rolled, also right now. “So, while we can appreciate the need to show a united front, honestly, we have bigger issues at home that we need to fix first.”
“I agree with Kitty,” Jeff said. “Not that we want to insinuate that the concerns of the Planetary Council aren’t important to us. They are. But if there is no immediate threat, we need to get our own house in order. There’s going to be tremendous fallout from the situation Cliff Goodman’s insanity put us in.”
Alexander nodded. “We agree and understand. And, with your permission, we will stay as long as we are able to assist you in any way, up to and including proving that we weren’t responsible in any way for the so-called Alien Virus our mutual enemy released on your unsuspecting populace.”
Alexander had gotten really good at the political speak. Nice to know he’d been spending his time learning, not being a jerk, not that this was a big surprise.
“So, since I’m reassured that we aren’t offending the Planetary Council or not paying attention to an imminent threat, who are you thinking of for Vice President, Jeff?” Vander asked.
Jeff looked down the table at Senator McMillan. He was the senior senator from Arizona, a good friend, and one of the few honest politicians we knew. “Don?” Jeff asked hopefully.
McMillan shook his head. “I’m tempted, Jeff, don’t get me wrong. But honestly, if I’d wanted to be Vice President, I’d have been Vince’s running mate instead of you. And as the President Pro Tempore of the Senate, I can do a lot more good for your presidency by staying put.”
This wasn’t a new sentiment. Jeff had been trying to harangue McMillan into taking the Vice Presidential position for the past several days. McMillan standing firm was in keeping with his personality and beliefs, so couldn’t really argue. Even though his wife, Kelly, was an alumna from the same sorority as me and I really liked her, meaning I’d have a pal in the White House.
“You need to ensure that whoever you put into the position is either an existing politician or high enough up in a government agency to be a name the public would know,” Nathalie Gagnon-Brewer said. She would know—she’d been the wife of a Representative who’d become our good friend, Edmund Brewer. He’d been murdered by Cliff’s people during Operation Sherlock. And the fact that two out of the three men who’d been mentoring Jeff in how to be a good politician were dead at our enemy’s hands wasn’t lost on me. I’d assigned extra guards to McMillan during Operation Epidemic and had insisted they remain indefinitely.
“What about you, Nathalie?” Jeff asked, clearly not joking.
She shook her head. “I’m a naturalized American, Jeff. I cannot become President and, sadly, as we have just seen, the Vice President is truly a heartbeat away from the Presidency.”
Jeff looked at Vander, who shook his head with a grin. “I know that look, Jeff, so let me say no on behalf of myself and Chuck, too. Neither of us is high enough up in our respective agencies to take the job.”
“Oh, I wasn’t thinking of Chuck for Vice President,” Jeff said.
Everyone at the table stared at him, some with their mouths open. James Reader, the Head of Field for Centaurion Division, the Head of Alpha Team, and my other best guy friend since I’d joined up with the gang from Alpha Four, found his voice first. “Why the hell not?”
Jeff grinned at Chuckie’s hurt look. “Because I already have a job that Chuck’s by far the best qualified to cover. Due to Goodman’s virus, we have an opening—I want Chuck to take over the CIA.”
“I’m already the Head of the E-T Division, Jeff,” Chuckie said, sounding confused, which was a rarity along the lines of a blue moon.
Jeff shook his head. “I want you in charge of it all, Chuck. As of right now, you’re the Director of the Central Intelligence Agency.”
CHAPTER 3
“I WHOLEHEARTEDLY APPROVE,” Mom said without missing a beat.
“Me, too,” Serene Dwyer said. She was the Head of Imageering now, and, after Christopher, was the strongest imageer we had. She was also a closet troubadour, meaning she could affect anyone with her voice, facial expression, and body movements. She’d started the A-C version of the CIA, manned solely by our much-maligned and quite eager to represent troubadour population. Other than me, no one outside of their organizatio
n knew they existed.
Horn and McMillan both nodded. “You accepting, Chuck, or do we have to coerce it out of you?” Horn asked with a grin.
“Ah, I accept,” Chuckie said, sounding slightly dazed. “You’re sure, Jeff?”
“No. I’m positive.” Jeff shrugged. “I want the best person for the job. And that’s you. For a variety of jobs, really, but this is the one where we need you most—the CIA has been our main source of infiltration for years, and you’re the only thing that’s stood between them and us, and the American people, for far too long. Clean the house—it’s yours now.”
“Logical choice,” McMillan said. “Though you’ll be accused of cronyism.”
“Yeah?” Jeff looked around the table. “I expect it. In fact, I welcome it.”
“Why so?” Horn asked.
“Because I plan to tell the press—two of whom are in the room with us already—the same thing that I’m going to say now.” Jeff nodded toward Mister Joel Oliver, who’d been the laughingstock of the reporting world until we’d been shoved out of the extraterrestrial closet during Operation Destruction, and Bruce Jenkins, who’d joined Team Alien during Operation Defection Election.
They were the only press allowed unlimited access to us, and that meant that they were now the envy of all their peers. Of course, most of the press corps didn’t know about the action that naturally followed in our wake. If and when they did, Oliver and Jenkins would probably have a lot less peer envy to deal with.
“And that is, Mister President?” Oliver asked, microphone for his recording device aimed straight at Jeff.
“As events have shown, the government and all of its agencies has been infiltrated by people bent on destroying everything good about our country, starting with her people. I refuse to allow that on my watch. Therefore, I’m going to be putting people I know I can trust into positions of power. And anyone who doesn’t like it can go find Cliff Goodman and bring him back to stand trial for treason and mass murder. Do that and I’ll listen to your complaints. Otherwise, this is now my show, and I’m going to run it in a way that both protects and benefits all the people of the United States and the world at large both.”
“God he’s Presidential,” Tim whispered to me. “You sure he’s not a troubadour somewhere?”
“No, he’s just being himself.”
Jeff, who was the strongest empath in the galaxy, picked up how proud of him I was. At least I figured him turning to me and giving me a very private smile to mean that he’d picked it up. He turned back to the room. “Doreen, let’s deal with the Embassy before we deal with the rest of my nominations.”
She nodded. “Okay, I agree with our former Ambassador that Benjamin Vrabel should be moved into the role of Defense Attaché.” Heads nodded around the table.
Vrabel wasn’t his real last name, but it was the one we were using for anything public-facing. His real last name was Siler. He was the son of one of the many female Brains Behind the Throne baddies we’d had to deal with, Madeleine Siler Cartwright, and the original Mastermind for our world, Ronald Yates, aka the in-control superbeing Mephistopheles. Yates was actually Richard White’s father, and therefore Jeff and Christopher’s grandfather, and had been a skirt chaser of the highest order, meaning there were a lot of Yates progeny out there.
I’d met the Yates-Mephistopheles superbeing during Operation Fugly, aka my introduction to what was really going on in the world, and I’d killed Mephistopheles, right after the Yates portion had died, but right before Mephs could join with me. I’d met Siler during Operation Defection Election, however, and, due to what his fab parental units had done to him, he aged very slowly. He had other interesting talents, too, and we’d determined he had probably been the first A-C and human hybrid on Earth.
Siler had been saved by his uncle, Cartwright’s brother, Hubert Siler, and had been trained in the fine art of assassination. So putting him into the Defense Attaché position hadn’t been a hard sell to anyone, including Siler himself. He’d lost a lot during Operation Epidemic, just as the rest of us had, and having a safe place to raise his adopted daughter, Lizzie, was high on his list of New Job Must-Haves.
“I’m also going to listen to things I’ve heard Kitty say over the years,” Doreen shared next, “and ask that Richard White take an official role as our Public Relations Minister.”
This earned a lot of shocked looks around the table. The only reason Christopher wasn’t arguing this was because he wasn’t at this meeting—he’d just become a father and was at the Embassy with his wife and child. Not that Christopher thought his father was a loser, but he was hyperprotective of White, even though White routinely proved he was able to kick butt and take names better than anyone else.
However, White looked surprised by Doreen’s announcement. “Ah, I’m retired.”
Doreen shook her head. “As our Supreme Pontifex? Yes, you are. As an active participant in the protection of our people and adopted country? You’re as involved as Kitty is. And she’s right—you’re the best diplomat we have. And I know that, far too often, what we need is going to be better achieved if an older, white man asks for it.”
This was a point no one could argue. “Richard, I’ll still grab you to kick butt as necessary.”
“Which will be never.” Malcolm Buchanan was part of the P.T.C.U. and had been assigned by my mother to protect me and my daughter, Jamie, since we’d first come to D.C. He now protected my almost seven-month-old son, Charlie, too, and, somewhat grudgingly, Jeff and the rest of our extended group of friends and family.
Buchanan was built like Jeff—big, broad, and good looking, only he had straight brown hair and blue eyes—and even though he was a human he had what I felt were Dr. Strange powers. If he didn’t want you to see him, you didn’t see him, and so forth. Frankly, I’d forgotten he was in the room until he’d spoken.
Of course, Jeff’s first appointment had been to put Buchanan in charge of all White House security, and the first thing Buchanan had done was insist that Walter Ward, the A-C who was the Head of Security at the Embassy, be moved into the White House to set up an extremely secure net around the entire complex. Meaning both that the White House complex would become even more secure than it had ever been before, and I’d be watched like a hawk 24/7. Always the way.
“Whatevs. Anyway, Richard, I really agree with Doreen—it’s time to stop pretending you’re retired in any way and just accept that all the haters are going to do what they can to keep us apart.”
White laughed. “Well, when the First Lady puts it that way, who am I to argue? Paul, your thoughts?”
This was directed to Paul Gower, Reader’s husband and the current Supreme Pontifex. Gower had been White’s adjunct when I’d first joined up, but it had been clear from Day One that White had been grooming Gower to take over the head religious role. Gower was big, black, bald, and beautiful, and he also missed being in on the action because, like me and Jeff, he was sidelined a lot because of his role within the A-C’s internal government.
“I think it’s a good choice, Richard,” he said seriously. “If Raj has no objections.”
Rajnish Singh was an A-C troubadour originally from New Delhi Base. He was Serene’s second in command in the secret A-C CIA. And he was the current Public Relations Minister.
“He won’t mind,” Jeff said before Raj could reply. “He’s moving into the White House.”
“Thanks, Jeff,” Raj said. “In what position? Press Secretary?”
“That had been my first thought,” Jeff said. “However, I’ve gone over the various roles that we have empty, and, barring any meaningful objections from anyone in the room, I’d like to have you take on Chief of Staff instead.”
This earned gasps from the humans in the room. Chief of Staff ran the entire business side of the White House. This would make Raj literally the most important man here, after Jeff. But no one offere
d any objections.
“Then who will fill the Press Secretary position?” Raj asked.
“You pick,” Jeff said. “That’s part of your job now.”
Raj nodded and, troubadour or not, trying to hide it or not, I could tell that he was incredibly flattered.
Jeff turned back to Doreen. “Who else?”
She sighed. “He’s going to object to it, but I really want Christopher to stay on as the Embassy Chargé d’Affaires and as the Primary, as well. As in, he’ll be the main point of contact for the Embassy with any of the Planetary Council, as well as helping me with all the day-to-day running of our diplomatic mission.”
Jeff sighed. “He won’t like it.”
“You two have been joined at the hip for long enough,” Gower said. “He can get over to you in less than a minute, Jeff.”
“Wow, I’m totally reminded of when we first moved here and you said almost the exact same thing about my not wanting to be too far from James.”
Jeff laughed. “Fine, fine, I’ll be a big boy. And you’re right—he’s the best qualified for those positions, and we need continuity of some kind at the Embassy.”
“I’d like Abigail Gower to stay on as one of our Cultural Attachés, and Mahin Sherazi to take the other Cultural Attaché role,” Doreen went on.
Jeff nodded. “I agree.”
“Who’s going to take Walter’s place as Head of Security?” I asked.
“I’ve consulted with Embassy staff, and Denise Lewis feels, based on the security discussions she’s been leading with Base Security worldwide, that moving Melissa Gunnels from Sydney Base to the Embassy is the right choice. I’ve interviewed her, and I agree. So, barring any objections, Missy’s going to take that role.”
