by Gini Koch
Len shook his head. “You need protection.”
“I have my Glock and we all have hyperspeed. I don’t want either one of you wandering off alone. And that’s an order.” Regardless of how long it would or wouldn’t take Len to find a car wash, or a secluded spot to turn the laser shield off and thereby lose all the crap on it, then drive back, we’d been attacked and, as far as I was concerned, that meant no one wandered alone.
Len opened his mouth, to protest I was sure, but before he could say anything, four Field agents appeared inside the limo via a floater gate and stepped out. “We’ll take the limo in for cleaning,” one of them said. “Just call the Embassy when you’re ready to leave, Ambassador.”
I opened my mouth, to argue for sure, but the agent who wasn’t drop-dead gorgeous and, therefore, was the human who’d be driving, shook his head. “Mister Buchanan’s orders.”
“Malcolm has his own set of Field agents?” It was possible. Buchanan was assigned by my mother to protect me and Jamie, and even though he was human, he had Dr. Strange powers as far as I’d ever seen.
“Mister Buchanan suggested you get inside and off the street,” the human agent replied with a smile. He walked to the driver’s door and opened it.
Len sighed. “Fine.” He put the car into park and got out. “I’d recommend not going to a car wash anywhere near the Embassy or Capitol Hill.”
“I’ll let Mister Buchanan know you and he shared the same insight,” the human agent said. He and the others got into the limo and gave us all looks that suggested we move our butts. We so moved.
“Well, I’m hungry,” Kyle said, as he led us inside and to our table. “So, at least we’ll get to eat,” he added as he got Jamie situated into the highchair already at our table.
“Yeah.” Len grimaced.
“What’s wrong?” I asked him.
“I don’t like taking orders from him. He’s not our boss—you and Mister Reynolds are.”
Kyle grunted his agreement but didn’t say anything.
Sincerely felt that Len and Kyle didn’t like Buchanan because they saw him as proof that no one, my mother most of all, felt that they were good at their jobs. But Buchanan had a good decade and a half of field experience the boys didn’t, and it had been proven more than once that Mom was right—Jamie and I needed someone with mad skills who also didn’t feel that I or Chuckie were actually in a real position to give orders that had to be obeyed.
“Look at it as you’re getting to protect me and Jamie instead of the car while the car is in safe hands, and it’s a win all the way around. Besides, you know Rosemarie has your favorite ready for you.”
Len smiled. “That’s true. She’s the only one who can make French toast like my mother’s.”
The restaurant was small, so just a few people made it seem very full. However, people wandering around with security wasn’t all that unusual in D.C., so we didn’t get a lot of looks. Besides, the boys were in the Armani Fatigues, so they looked as much like young businessmen as they did security or C.I.A.
We settled down, Naomi and I with Jamie between us. Our regular table had a photo hanging above it, taken the first time we’d ever eaten here. Me, Jeff, Nathalie and Edmund Brewer, Reader, Vance Beaumont, Len, and Kyle, all smiling, looking like we were having fun, which we were. Our first meal here had been a small oasis of normalcy in the maelstrom that had been Operation Sherlock.
Rosemarie had put a little black ribbon on the frame under Edmund. Looking at that never failed to give me a lump in my throat.
Naomi saw where I was looking, reached over, and squeezed my hand. “Let’s order,” she said gently.
“Yeah.” Swallowed hard, then shoved my mind back to why we were here, which was to have breakfast and discuss our diplomatic mission’s upcoming schedules.
The food here was great and the teas were even better. We tried to get here at least once every couple of weeks, which meant we were considered special regulars. The number in our party changed, but whether we had two or twenty, the Teetotaler always accommodated.
Kyle had told Rosemarie what had happened, so she was extra attentive, and brought out some special muffins and jam and two pots of house-blended tea for us to snack on while our breakfast order was being prepared.
“So, in part to avoid talking about the unpleasantness you had to start your morning with, but mostly because it’s required that someone asks you the Official Question at least once a week,” Rosemarie said to Naomi, “how’s married life?”
Naomi grinned. “Just like last week, it’s great.”
“Good.” Rosemarie gave Jamie a kiss on the top of her head. “Looking forward to when you bring in your baby, too.” She bustled off.
Abigail laughed. “Nice to know that even casual acquaintances want to know when you and Chuck are going to get busy, Sis.”
“You mean aside from everyone’s parents, friends, associates, and, officially, all of Centaurion Division, American Centaurion, and probably the C.I.A.?” I asked.
“Feels that way some days. But it’s okay.” Naomi chuckled. “We’re not quite ready to start. But soon.” She winked at me. “We figure we need to get our Baby Number One before you and Jeff have your Number Two.”
“We’re in a race? No one told me.”
She laughed. “No. But we don’t want to wait too long to get started. Jeff’s not the only one who wants a lot of kids, you know.”
“Chuckie does?”
“We both do.” She kissed Jamie’s cheek. “You know how much I love my goddaughter, but she needs a girl playmate. She’s got plenty of boys. It’s clearly up to us to get Jamie a best girlfriend.”
“Cannot argue with the logic.”
We’d just finished scarfing down the muffins and jam when Rosemarie brought our food out. Muffins and jam had merely taken the edge off, for all of us, apparently. We dug in.
I’d just taken a huge bite of pancake loaded with butter and syrup when my phone rang. Always the way. Chewed quickly and didn’t bother to look at who was calling. “Hello?” Hey, my mouth was full, but I could get that out sort of clearly.
“Ambassador, I’d like to introduce myself.” A man’s voice, smooth but also dangerous. Quickly swallowed and also checked to see who this was—my phone shared that the number was blocked. It so figured.
“Yes?”
“I’m the man who’s going to destroy you and the so-called people you associate with.”
“Really?”
“Really. The alien scum you’ve chosen to align with are going to be no more. Soon. Not soon enough, but as soon as humanly possible.”
“Uh huh. Destroy, nasty names, alien phobia, gotcha. Don’t tell me, let me guess. You’re the new head honcho for Club Fifty-One.”
CHAPTER 4
EVERYONE AT MY TABLE stopped eating and stared at me, looks of trepidation on every face.
Other than Jamie, who was thankfully playing with her Poof, Mous-Mous, while eating. Naomi had cut up all her food into perfect little bites, which was more proof of how much Jamie adored her. She hadn’t allowed me or Jeff to cut up her food for months because she could do it herself and normally wanted to. She might only be eighteen months old, but she was advanced in a lot of ways, and this was merely one of them.
Mous-Mous came along wherever Jamie went, and since Poofs looked like fluffy balls of fur with ears, paws, and big button eyes, but no tails, it appeared that Jamie was playing with a stuffed animal. A stuffed animal that could go Jeff-sized and toothy should danger appear, but a stuffed animal at this size, nonetheless. The Poofs had been outed along with the rest of us, but even so, they tended to pass as stuffed more often than not.
My new special caller chuckled and dragged me away from the momentary enjoyment of watching my daughter innocently playing “one bite for me, one bite for you” with her pet. “That’s right.”
“Going to give me your name?”
“Not yet. You’ll know me soon enough. Enjoy the rest of your
day.” With that he hung up.
Stared at my phone. “Well, that was fun. Threatening calls, they’re great for the digestion.”
“We shouldn’t discuss it here,” Abigail said. “Just in case we’re being watched for our reactions.”
Surreptitiously looked around. No one seemed to be paying us any attention.
“We need to finish up,” Naomi said. “If they’re calling you, you know that means they’ve got something else in motion.”
Everyone nodded and we went from enjoying our meal to speed eating. The Gower girls and I didn’t use hyperspeed—them because it wasn’t wise to do so out in public, me because I wasn’t really good with eating at non-human levels just yet and didn’t feel like having syrup smeared all over my face, or hair, or worse.
We’d just finished up, Jamie included, when a group of businessmen and one businesswoman came in.
Len, who was on my other side and watching all the entrances, stiffened. “This can’t be good,” he said quietly.
“Who is it?”
He shot me a look I was familiar with—the “why don’t you ever read the briefing materials” look. “The heads of Gaultier Enterprises, Titan Security, and YatesCorp.”
“Oh. Right.” Yeah, they did look vaguely familiar. “Or, as we call them, our own personal Axis of Evil. This morning just keeps on getting better and better, doesn’t it?”
Naturally, said Axis were looking directly at us. They all smiled. I now knew exactly how a sea lion felt when faced with a group of great white sharks.
Sure enough, they headed straight for us.
“Ambassador Katt-Martini,” the lead Land Shark said. “How fortunate that we find you here.”
“Is it?” I’d avoided meeting all these people in person, but this was definitely Ansom Somerall, who was the current acting Chairman of the Board of Gaultier Enterprises. He was about six-two, average build, normally attractive. He had a full head of silver hair, but he was only in his mid-fifties.
“Of course,” Somerall replied with what I was sure he felt was a charming smile. “Fortunate for me to get to be in the company of four beautiful American Centaurion ladies.” He made sure to look at each of the females at the table, including Jamie.
Resisted the urge to snarl or gag, since he’d included my toddler in this smarmy come-on. Sure, my husband had used similar lines on me when we’d met—but Jeff had charm up the wazoo and Somerall definitely didn’t, at least not as far as I was concerned. Rumor said Somerall fancied himself a ladies’ man. Since, in addition to my husband, I knew the Ladies’ Man of Ladies’ Men—Naomi and Abigail’s older brother Michael—I could come down firmly on the side of Somerall not having anything close to Jeff’s game and being merely a pretender to Michael’s throne.
Of course, when you considered the company Somerall tended to keep, perhaps he was the best choice of the bunch, which was a textbook example of damning with faint praise.
Behind him stood a taller, thin man, with thinning light-brown hair and glasses. He was sort of stooped. It made him look both somewhat unassuming and also kind of creepy. From what Amy had told me, the unassuming part was an act, but Quinton Cross had creepy down to an art form.
Cross smiled. It was, like the rest of him, both unassuming and creepy. Moved him higher up on my Latest Enemies Trying to Destroy Us list. “As Ansom said, of course it’s fortunate, Ambassador. We have a mutually beneficial proposal to discuss.”
“Really? And you think right now—when I’m out with my daughter and clearly already occupied with my friends and Embassy staff—is the appropriate time? Especially since I was under the impression you were supposed to be having a meeting with someone else associated with our diplomatic mission—Amy Gaultier-White.”
That meeting was why Amy wasn’t with us at breakfast. Wanted to send her a text and make sure she was okay but couldn’t really take my focus away from the Land Sharks.
Standing just a little apart from the men was an attractive woman in her mid-forties. She hadn’t seemed fazed by Somerall’s come-ons, or Cross’ creepiness, so either she was used to them, or they didn’t bother her. Maybe both, but I figured on the former.
Janelle Gardiner had her long, dark hair done up and was in all green. Wasn’t sure if she was matching her eyes today or if green was “her color.” People in D.C. seemed big on the “your color” idea. Based on my experience in this town, I pegged her as the likely Brains Behind the Posturing Sharks.
These three were the power on the Gaultier Enterprises board and were the main people Amy was fighting for control of the company her father had built. If they were here, looking for me, they weren’t here for a social call.
Gardiner shook her head. “That meeting was rescheduled because of this new issue. It’s time-sensitive, Ambassador. We’d never disturb you without an appointment, otherwise.” She smiled. “Lillian Culver would never let me live it down.”
Lillian Culver was the top lobbyist for some of the biggest defense contractors, including but not limited to Titan Security. She and I weren’t friends but, thanks to my “uncles” the assassins, we now had a good working relationship based on the fact that Culver knew that if she really went against me, those “uncles” would kill her and her husband, Abner Schnekedy, without a moment’s hesitation or remorse. As I’d learned early, it was good to have friends in both the high and the low places.
Looked around. “Where is Lillian? Since you’re dropping her name to get me to chummy up and all that.” I wasn’t asking because I liked Culver, but this was the kind of group I expected her to be at least ushering around.
“She’s at the Capitol,” Gardiner said. “Doing her job.” Which probably meant pressuring my husband to do something against our better interests. So that was business as usual.
Managed not to ask how Gardiner knew what Culver was up to. Gaultier Enterprises wasn’t a defense contractor of any kind, but their ties with Titan ran deep, and if you were in with one big defense firm, you were also in with Lillian Culver.
Of course, after Operation Assassination, Titan should have been out of business permanently. But as I’d also learned early, evil never truly died, and Titan was back in the game. They weren’t quite back to what they’d been when Antony Marling had been alive and in charge, but their future was again looking bright.
And the man who’d brought Titan back from the dead and into that brave new world of financial success and government love was now stepping forward, the better to give me a friendly grin I didn’t buy for a New York Minute.
Of course, him stepping forward meant that Kyle felt it was time to stand up. Len followed suit.
“Ambassador, we haven’t met, I’m—”
“Thomas Kendrick. I know. We get the papers at the Embassy.” And Chuckie had done his best to make sure every single person in the Embassy could recognize these people on sight. Even I, who admittedly hadn’t really read these specific briefing materials, knew who Kendrick and the rest were. Sure, I knew them because Len had told me who they were just now, but now that he had, my memory had happily shared some facts.
“I’m flattered,” Kendrick said politely. He eyed the boys. “I can assure you, the Ambassador is in no danger.”
Kendrick was former military, and it showed. He had that crisp, buttoned-down, and above all, intense look that a lot of former military possessed. We had a lot of military working with us, and even my flyboys, who were considered the biggest jokers around, could pull off this look in a nanosecond if it was called for. Maybe it was something you learned in basic training or officer’s school. But whatever it was, Kendrick had it in spades.
Kendrick’s father was an American former Marine and his mother was Vietnamese, so Kendrick was also quite good looking. He’d been appointed into Titan by the Department of Defense, and that meant he might be good on the inside as well as the outside. But I doubted it. In my world—the one where people tried to kill or control me and everyone I loved on a regular basis—anyone
high up in these three companies was automatically suspect until proven to be Evil Incarnate. So far, that viewpoint had never been wrong.
“Then it won’t matter that we’re standing up just like you, will it?” Len asked mildly. Kyle shifted so he was directly between the Land Sharks and Jamie. Noted that Naomi was texting, but other than being happy that one of us could multitask right now, wasn’t sure that this was going to help.
Kendrick shrugged. “Suit yourselves. Ambassador, if we could speak with you privately, that would be best.”
Wondered if Len and Kyle were having Operation Destruction flashbacks right about now and figured they were. Me, I simply braced myself for more doctored dirty pictures and forged ahead. “Would it? Then I guess you should have made an appointment. Right now, if you want to talk, we’re doing it here, in front of everyone. But I do have a question—how did you know I’d be here?”
The last man standing was Amos Tobin, the person now in charge of all of YatesCorp or, as I thought of it, the House That Mephistopheles Built. He’d only recently been appointed to run things by the YatesCorp Board—they, like Gaultier, had taken their sweet time about choosing the official successor to Ronald Yates. Even before he’d joined with the Mephistopheles parasite, Yates had been a tough act to follow, especially if you were into evil plotting and so forth.
Tobin was a mogul in his own right—he’d run a variety of successful businesses, including starting several successful fast-food franchises. Before YatesCorp he’d also successfully dabbled in companies focused on publishing, music, and art. So he had the bona fides for the job.
He was a nice-looking, middle-aged black man, just starting to show some paunch around the middle. Unlike the others, though, Tobin was going for a more folksy look. Oh, sure, he was still dressed in the standard suit and tie, but it wasn’t D.C. standard. He was in black on black, with a Stetson, bolo tie, and cowboy boots, all in black as well. It looked good on him, in a sort of Southern Godfather way, but I prepared myself for the inevitable bad joke.
