Alien Research

by Gini Koch

  Horn laughed. “No, your mother doesn’t lie on a regular basis. I believe she feels it’s a waste of her time.”

  Managed not to mention that my mother, and father, and Chuckie, for that matter, had all felt it was a great use of their time to lie to me for years. Until I’d met the gang from Alpha Four, I’d firmly believed my mother was a consultant, my father was a history professor at Arizona State University, and my best guy friend was a self-made multimillionaire twice over and only an international playboy.

  That Mom was the head of the Presidential Terrorism Control Unit, Dad did a lot of cryptology work for NASA mostly dealing with alien transmissions, and Chuckie was Mr. C.I.A. had been things I’d only discovered during Operations Fugly and Drug Addict. One day, it might not bother me that they’d fooled me so easily for twenty-seven years. One day.

  “Good to know. Speaking of Mom, and Cliff, why aren’t they here?” This kind of meeting seemed like one Cliff should be attending. Wondered if him coming to help us had delayed him. Then wondered if he’d been attacked by one or both of the mobs. But had a more pressing and less alarming question. “And where’s Kevin?”

  “Kevin’s with Walter,” Jeff said quickly, giving me a look that said he didn’t want me talking about the Security training session.

  “Cliff’s on his way,” Chuckie added. “He said he had a couple important Homeland Security errands to run first.”

  Wondered why Cliff hadn’t told Chuckie what was really going on. Then realized it was the same reason I wasn’t telling Chuckie or Jeff or the others what had gone on—we had a new guy in the room and I didn’t know which side he was really on. Cliff knew we were okay, and he was on his way over. Tell everyone what had happened once it was clearly “in the past.” He was a smart guy, after all.

  “And your mother is handling other things,” McMillan said. “She feels there are enough of us here to deal with the issue and keep her informed.”

  Would have liked to have confirmation for how in-the-know and trustworthy Horn was before I’d met him. Either Cliff didn’t know or he didn’t trust Horn. Made do with the next best thing to asking aloud. Looked at Chuckie and tilted my head a little to the right. He looked at Horn, then nodded. Okay, so Chuckie felt Horn was okay. Looked around the room, then back at Chuckie. Who smiled and nodded. Fine, Horn could be told whatever.

  “I still hate it when you two communicate in that way,” Jeff muttered.

  Patted his hand, but chose to show off my diplomatic skills and not mention that his jealousy could take the day off, in part because he’d only sounded about a three out of ten on the scale. “Okay. So, what’s the issue we’re all here to powwow about?”

  Horn sighed. “We’ve identified a link between several multinational corporations to terrorist organizations.”

  “You mean aside from Titan Security, Gaultier Enterprises, and YatesCorp, most likely linked to the Al Dejahl terrorist organization and all of its offshoots? Because those links are seriously old news and if that’s all the F.B.I. has, I think you might want to consider putting in for a transfer to another agency.”

  “Yes,” Horn said. “But we also know that they have protection at—”

  “The highest political levels. Yeah, old news. If they didn’t my mother would have stopped Herbert Gaultier a hell of a long time before he, ah, disappeared.” And never let me and Amy be friends, of course, so at least some good had come out of the powerful people protecting the Evil Genius Society and its entire membership.

  “Yes,” Horn said again. “However, the issue is that it’s been identified that those who used to be in charge of these corporations have all died or disappeared under mysterious circumstances.”

  Did my best to look calm and cool. One thing about my recurring nightmare—I wasn’t thrown or flustered by this statement in the least. “Yes, they have. What of it? Is the F.B.I. upset that the old villains aren’t around any more to make a good golf foursome or something?”

  Horn chuckled as he shook his head. “No. Titan was brought down, for the most part, but not completely, and it’s starting to rebuild. Gaultier and YatesCorp, however, have sailed along with business as usual, with nary a hiccup, even though they lost their CEOs and then some. Meaning we have new people in old positions or people who’ve been around for a long time ensuring ties to terrorist organizations still remain strong. And we need them stopped.”

  “Is the F.B.I. aware that there’s more going on with all these corporations than mere terrorist links? Because there are worse things out there than fanatics with guns, and these three corporations like to really be diverse in the kind of evil services they provide.”

  “Yes, we’re very aware.”

  “So why are you coming to us?”

  Horn looked me straight in the eyes. “Because I know you’re the ones who took down all those people missing and/or presumed dead.”

  Maybe I’d been having that damn nightmare for a reason. I shrugged. “Proof would be a requirement, I’d think.” Was proud of myself—my voice didn’t falter in the least and I sounded close to bored.

  Horn smiled. “Yes, it would be, if I wanted to bring anyone in for prosecution. But that’s not my goal. The C.I.A. isn’t the only agency willing to make deals in order to get things done.”

  “What deals are you talking about?”

  Horn’s turn to shrug. “We need to identify which politicians and people in power are behind these anti-alien and anti-U.S. programs. And stop them. Permanently. Preferably before the next big plan is put into action.”

  Asked what I felt was the obvious question. “What’s the next big plan?”

  “No one knows,” Armstrong said. “Things have been quiet since you identified Lydia Montgomery as being the person responsible for killing off over two dozen fellow politicians.”

  Kept my opinion on this to myself. We’d discovered there was a Mastermind behind most of the Bad Guy du Jour plans, and he or she was working like the Sith, meaning an Apprentice was a necessity. Esteban Cantu had been one of the Apprentices, but he’d been arrested during Operation Destruction and murdered by the bad guys during Operation Sherlock. Meaning that it was Open Enrollment time for Apprentice Wannabes.

  That had been what drove most of Operation Sherlock—Apprentice Tryouts. Due to evidence, some of which we were all pretty sure was planted, Lydia was incriminated for not just the murders we knew she’d committed but more besides. This had given law enforcement and Capitol Hill a nice feeling of closure. The idea that Lydia had acted alone and there was no one on the grassy knoll helping her out was a stupid assumption on their parts, of course.

  However, I could confirm that while there were a lot of questions left unanswered at the end of Operation Sherlock, things had gone very, very quiet in the six months since.

  Thought back to the bit of conversation I’d heard on the way in. “If things have been quiet, why are you here?” I asked Horn.

  “I agree with Charles—just because things are quiet it doesn’t mean nothing’s going on. But I’d like your opinion, Kitty, about why things are quiet.”

  Looked around. “Why mine as opposed to everyone else who’s here? Or is it just that you already know everyone else’s opinions?”

  “You’ve been identified by all agencies as being instrumental.”

  That wasn’t news I liked hearing. It was accurate, sure, but that everyone in the Alphabet Agencies had me marked as their go-to girl, either pro or con, was unsettling at best. That the heads of the three corporations we were discussing had tried to have what now seemed like an end-run meeting with me only made this worse.

  Looked to Chuckie again. He nodded.

  “Fine. Has anyone forwarded our Mastermind theory?”

  “Yes, Charles and I went over it in some detail the other day.”

  Made sense—Horn was now Chuckie’s counterpart in the F.B.I. But Chuckie had called him “sir.” Meaning that Chuckie likely both respected Horn and also thought of him as high
er up the food chain. Interesting.

  I’d have loved to have more time to process all this interesting, and having had a chance to sit down and regroup from all the morning’s fun activities first would have been nice, too. Chose to hold off on asking where, if this was a lunch meeting, all the food was. Sure I’d just eaten a little while ago, but all the stress and such had worked up my appetite again.

  “Super. Well, my opinion is that the Mastermind figured out we were onto him, and has chosen to lie low until we get distracted with something else.”

  Horn beamed. “That’s my opinion, too.”

  “Why does our being in agreement make you so darned happy, Vander?”

  “Because you’re likely to agree with what I want to do.”

  Looked around the room. Had the distinct feeling that everyone else knew what Horn wanted to do and that none of them agreed with it.

  “Okay, I’ll bite. What’s your plan?”

  “I want to do a full-scale congressional investigation into Gaultier Enterprises.”

  CHAPTER 9

  LET THAT ONE SIT on the air for a bit. Clearly I’d picked up some dream and memory reading talent, maybe from hanging out with Gower for so long. Because I could see where this plan of Horn’s would lead.

  “Vander, you realize that if we start congressional hearings over Gaultier, then the disappearance of Herbert Gaultier, and the disappearance and reappearance of LaRue Demorte Gaultier, and her subsequently bringing an alien invasion back with her, will be top of mind for one and all, right?”

  “I don’t see it as an issue,” Horn said.

  “Twenty bucks says you’re the only one in the room who doesn’t.”

  “I agree with the Ambassador,” Armstrong said. “While I’d love to figure out all that Gaultier is involved in, and stop them, a very public display doesn’t sound like it’s in anyone’s best interests.”

  Mine in particular. I’d been dreaming about how I’d handle a congressional hearing. “Not well” was my final verdict.

  Horn shook his head. “We have Herbert Gaultier’s only child sitting right here. She’s fighting to take control of the corporation. This could help her.”

  “I’d love to agree with you,” Amy said. “However, the Board of Directors has other plans, and has blocked every attempt to have my father listed as presumed dead. They’re winning on that one in part because he’s only been missing for eighteen months. LaRue’s death was public and therefore public knowledge. My father’s disappearance, however, was not public.”

  Gaultier wasn’t gone, he was dead and gone. But we’d disposed of the body and that meant we had no proof. Which was good, because Christopher had killed him, and I doubted the courts were going to be excited about the fact that Amy’s husband had done that particular deed. Somerall, Gardiner, and Cross, however, would be ecstatic to make that discovery.

  The others chimed in with why they thought this idea of Horn’s was a bad idea. But I still had a question. “Excuse me, Vander, but what you’re suggesting is an idea, not an issue. Supposedly there is also an issue at hand. I’d like to know what that is.”

  Horn looked pleased, and it dawned on me that he was testing me. It so figured. Pulled my phone out of my back pocket and sent a text to our Concierge Majordomo, aka Pierre, and asked him to get the lunch party started, so to speak. Considering how the day was going, gave him specific requests—it’d been a stressful day so far and I wanted comfort food. He confirmed that food was coming from my favorite deli.

  “The issue is that we’ve picked up intel that a new narcotic is about to hit the streets,” Horn said.

  “Not to sound callous, but why is that our concern? Unless, of course, and I’m just spitballing here, this drug is a lot like Surcenthumain or what they hit Malcolm with.” During Operation Sherlock, the bad guys had given Buchanan a shot of a suspended animation drug. It had worked really well, but we’d thankfully found the antidote. Surcenthumain was why Jeff, Christopher, Christopher’s “lost aunt” Serene, her son Patrick, Jamie, and I were now officially Extra Special with a Side of Mutated.

  “We don’t know what the drug is,” McMillan said. “However, the information at hand does indicate it’s likely to be a drug we wouldn’t want on the streets. And by that I mean it’s a drug likely to permanently alter the persons taking it.”

  “I can’t buy why they’d release Surcenthumain just randomly,” I said, as Pierre came in, followed by some A-C Field agents, who started to set the table and get food onto it. Refrained from telling them they were all my heroes, but it took effort. “It’s too powerful a drug. That’s something you sell to the highest bidder, not hand out to the local pushers.”

  “That’s why I want to launch the investigation into Gaultier,” Horn countered. “They’re the most likely source of the drug.”

  The others started talking again. I got a nice, frosty Coke, snagged a toasted bagel and—while I loaded on the cream cheese, capers, lox, and onions—observed.

  Everyone was fired up about the drugs and the suggested investigation. Everyone was also coming up with alternative ideas for what to do. And if I’d spent a relaxing morning having fun with my friends and daughter before I’d been thrust into this meeting, I might have been, too.

  However, I was still revved up and more than a little paranoid from being attacked at literally every turn, and I hadn’t been prepped for this particular situation. Therefore, I was willing to sit back and occupy my mouth with chewing and swallowing my food, while my eyes and ears paid attention.

  Horn was observing, as well. He was active in the conversation, but he let the others do most of the talking now, though he made sure to keep on coming back to the idea that the only option was a full congressional investigation. I wasn’t up on all the ways to take down Big Pharma, but going before Congress usually was a last resort, not your opening gambit.

  Horn hadn’t been moved into the position he was in because he was a moron. Since Operation Destruction had outed us to the world, the President and other world leaders had made some temporary changes. No new elections until the next cycle, which meant anyone in office when the Dino-Birds From Space attacked was sticking around for, as of now, at least another eighteen months. Appointees and special elections to fill seats opened by death or disablement only, which was why Jeff and Nathalie were both new congresspersons.

  This was one reason there were so many anti-alien groups out and active right now—Club 51 was just the one we knew the best, so to speak. But many of these groups were protesting the suspension of our constitution, and for others, it was just a nice moral outrage issue they could hide their bigotry and xenophobia behind.

  However, the F.B.I. had been given the direction to add on an official division just focused on aliens. Okay, no surprise—all the other agencies had the same. The question was, though, why had the F.B.I. waited so long? The first wave of A-Cs, which had included White, had come in the 1960s. That was a hell of a long time to wait to put someone in charge of paying attention to what the nice aliens were up to.

  Meaning they hadn’t waited.

  So, what the F.B.I. was doing was now “creating” a division they’d probably already had working clandestinely. And if they’d put Horn in charge, it was likely that he’d either been in charge of the clandestine section or he was incredibly in-the-know and experienced.

  My phone was out, and no one was actually paying attention to me. I did a search on Evander Horn. He popped right up. Scrolled through to find the pertinent information.

  Amy was passionately arguing that we had to come up with a better plan than the congressional hearing when I found what I was looking for—Horn’s undergraduate degree wasn’t in Political Science, Communications, or even Business. His degree was in Psychology.

  “If we give any of the Board any indication that we know for certain they’re up to no good, they’ll destroy evidence faster than you can blink,” Amy said with conviction.

  “There are ways to
avoid that,” Chuckie said. “Search warrants being served by a plethora of law enforcement, for example.”

  “Maybe.” Amy didn’t sound convinced. “Ansom Somerall may have become the Chairman of the Board, but Janelle Gardiner and Quinton Cross are still both trying to take control. However, they’re all happily working together to oppose me and anyone else who might want to have a say in the day-to-day or overall goals of the company and if—”

  “Ames, everyone, let’s relax and take five for a minute.” Hoped the others would catch on that my interrupting Amy mid-sentence was intentional. “Have some sodas, juice, or Pierre’s special iced tea, eat some food, it’s all fresh from the deli.” Turned to Horn. “I’d like to ask our new bestest friend here one important question no one else yet has.”

  Horn smiled at me. “What’s that?”

  “Well, first off, I’d like to say something. Impressive use of reverse psychology, Vander. You have us all hysterically trying to come up with anything other than what you keep on suggesting. But we’re busy people, and I, personally, have already had a hell of a busy morning, so let’s cut to the chase. My question is simple: What the hell do you actually want us to do that we will somehow think is our own idea, not yours?”

  Horn stared at me. “That isn’t my intention at all.”

  “Bullpookey, pardon my French. You want us solving your little problem, and you want us to think it’s our idea, too. I want to know why.” Looked at Chuckie. “I also want to know, immediately, if Mister Horn here is really a human being or if he’s got that special something inside him that makes him keep going and going and going.”

  “I’m not an android,” Horn said.

  “Glad you can read my mind and all, but we have a saying in Pueblo Caliente—prove it.”

  CHAPTER 10

  FOR THE FIRST TIME, Horn seemed uncomfortable. “I really don’t think that’s necessary.” He didn’t sound cool or suave—he sounded defensive.