by Gini Koch
“You’re on American Centaurion soil, and, news flash, I’m the highest ranking American Centaurion on premises. Here, I outrank even the Pontifex.” Noted that Reader, aka the Head of Field for Centaurion Division, and therefore the only person who could outrank me in the Embassy, wasn’t on premises. Figured Gower and Chuckie had told him to stay home for a reason. Revised my opinion on why Chuckie was calling Horn “sir.”
“I’m not challenging your authority,” Horn said. “I just see no need to prove that I am who everyone here knows I am.”
“Sucks to be you, because I’m saying that you’re going to be proven to be one hundred percent human, or I’m calling in the National Guard, which in our case, means you’re going to be handled with extreme prejudice by Centaurion Division.”
“It’s a non-intrusive test,” Raj said calmly. The tension in the room ratcheted down. Troubadours, they had a lot more power than the empaths and imageers wanted to admit. “Our staff physician performs it routinely on our personnel, or friends,” he nodded toward Chuckie, “who tend to travel in the more dangerous circles. Think of it as an odd custom and a formality that will allow American Centaurion to fully accept you and your new position.”
White nodded. “I’ve taken the liberty of asking Doctor Hernandez to join us and perform the test while we’re all here. He’ll be with us shortly.”
Horn didn’t look much happier. “You won’t have to remove your suit jacket, let alone any other piece of clothing,” Jeff said gently. “No one here will be seeing anything you don’t want them to see.”
Horn visibly relaxed. “If it’s truly non-intrusive,” he said, but he still didn’t seem comfortable or even close to in control of the situation. Looked at my phone and scrolled through his bio again, a little slower this time.
Tito arrived, quick introductions were made, and then he pulled out what looked like one of the wands security used at airports to do the closer body frisks, only with a lot more blinking lights on it. A-Cs seemed to take a lot of their design cues from human airports, God alone knew why.
While Tito slowly ran the Organic Validation Sensor over every part of Horn, I looked for possible reasons for why Horn had gone from Smooth Dude In Charge to Freaked Out Paranoid.
Found it, and suddenly felt kind of bad. “Oh.” Looked over at Horn. “Sorry. I get why this just freaked you out. But, honestly, you’re freaking me out, too. We’ve been fooled before, and you were manipulating us. Next time, don’t play games with us, and we won’t put you into a situation that makes you feel emotionally unstable.”
“Mind telling us what you’re talking around?” Christopher asked.
“Once Tito’s given us the okay or the shoot-to-kill signal.”
Horn managed a weak chuckle. “I’m certainly hoping I get the okay.”
“You do,” Tito said. “Anyone else I need to check while I’m up here?”
“No, I think we’re good, unless everyone else wants to be wanded to show solidarity with Vander.”
“I’d like proof we should be feeling that solidarity,” White said. “Under the circumstances, that is.”
“That’s fair.” Horn looked around the room. “Actually, the Ambassador is right. I was manipulating you. I know some of you, but not most, and I’ve heard stories. I wanted to see what you’d come up with when faced with a situation all of you wanted to avoid.”
“Nice,” Jeff said, sarcasm meter starting to rise. “However, as Kitty said, we prefer people actually telling us what they want, instead of trying to play us.”
Horn shot him a quick smile. “I understand.”
“You want to explain why asking to be proven to be a human instead of an android worried you?” Amy asked. “Or should we have Kitty do it?”
Horn grimaced. “It’s not for the reasons you think.”
He was going to pussyfoot. I hadn’t had enough Coke to feel like letting him. “He doesn’t want to take his clothes off.” Everyone stared at me. “Seriously, it’s in his profile on the government websites, at least, it is if you read between the lines. A drunk driver caused a horrific several-car crash about twenty-five years ago, which included Vander and his family. He lost his wife and young children, but he was a hero, because he dragged every single person out of their cars, many of which were on fire, his included. He’s the reason anyone lived through the accident.”
Horn looked down. “I have burns over seventy-five percent of my body,” he said in a low voice. “Miraculously, not my head, face, or hands.”
“The drunk driver lived. That you didn’t murder him with those unburned hands is more of a shock to me than the fact that you took damage. But I think I speak for all of us in the room—those scars aren’t going to look hideous to any of us. They’re going to look like medals of honor.”
“Thank you.” Horn cleared his throat. “The drunk driver spent ten years in prison. When he got out, he drowned himself in a bathtub full of vodka. He paid his price.” He sighed. “And the next thing I’m sure Kitty is going to mention is that I’ve spent a lot of time with the research arm of Gaultier Enterprises, looking for a better cure for burn victims. That’s my cause, understandably. But it means I have links into Gaultier.”
“So do we,” Chuckie said, nodding toward Amy. “That doesn’t mean we’re the bad guys, and I think it may be safe to say the same for you.” He looked at me. “And before you ask and berate me, yes, I knew all this. And,” he grinned, “let’s also just say that Vander wasn’t the only person manipulating this situation and let it go at that.”
“Oh, Secret Agent Man, you move in sneaky, mysterious ways.”
“He does,” Jeff said, sounding slightly pissed off. “But I’d like to know why.”
McMillan shrugged. “Isn’t it obvious, Jeff? Charles wanted everyone’s cards on the table, Vander’s in particular. He has a very effective weapon in your wife that he knows how to use.”
“Thanks, I think.” I was a weapon?
Chuckie laughed. “She’s like Mel Gibson in Lethal Weapon, but with a different kind of crazy.”
“Wow, the compliments keep on coming.” Had to admit, Chuckie was probably right. “So, before anyone else chimes in on my special kind of crazy, let’s get back to the real situation at hand. We don’t want a congressional investigation, and, Vander, I really don’t think you do, either. So, what is it you want us to do? Trust me when I say that we’re a lot more willing and effective when we know what the actual goal is than if we’re flailing around in the dark.”
Horn nodded. “I’m willing to believe it. Fine. What I want, and I believe you all want as well, is to get to who’s really running things, the bad things, at Gaultier, YatesCorp, and what’s becoming the new Titan. The latest narcotic is what I believe is going to be the tip of a terrifying iceberg.”
“And you want us to melt that sucker down so the good ship USA doesn’t turn into the Titanic, right?”
“Right.” Horn laughed. “I like how you think.”
“Someone has to,” Christopher muttered.
I was going to tell Christopher that I’d hurt him later, when my phone rang. It was Buchanan. “Excuse me a moment.” Got up and stepped away. “Hey, Malcolm, what’s up?”
“Missus Chief, I remember something.”
“Good, good. Memories are great and all that. Why are you calling me about them?”
He made the exasperation sound. I got that a lot from Jeff and Chuckie; nice to know Buchanan had joined that team. “I mean I remember something from when I was drugged.”
“Oh. Okay, I’ll take the ‘duh’ on that one.” The drug Buchanan had been hit with was experimental for long-range space flight. It put the body and brain into suspended animation, and also slowed the aging process.
The downside to it was that the drug’s recipient would have memory loss of the thirty minutes prior to the drug’s injection, give or take. Memory loss of the time after the injection, when the subject was slipping into suspended animation, was
also a given. Since Buchanan was our only known human test subject, we didn’t have a lot to go on beyond this, though Dulce and NASA Base had been working on it these past six months.
“What do you remember?”
“I’m pretty sure Colonel Hamlin is alive, or was the last time I saw him.”
CHAPTER 11
COLONEL MARVIN HAMLIN had been the head of Andrews Air Force Base before Jeff and I had been assigned to the Embassy. He was anti-alien, but all described him as a good man. He’d disappeared right at the start of Operation Destruction, and had been assumed to be one of the “Captains” in charge of a section of the supersoldier projects.
However, at the start of Operation Sherlock, Hamlin had arrived at our Embassy to share that he’d disappeared not when everyone believed, but actually much earlier, right before Jamie was born. He’d run because he’d discovered there was a Mastermind behind the majority of the conspiracies going on, and the Mastermind had sent assassins, and lots of them, after the good Colonel.
Hamlin was, in part, why we believed in the Mastermind theory. Buchanan had been taking him to get proof of the theory and, if proven, to a safe house, when he’d been attacked and drugged by the now finally really and truly late and mostly unlamented Clarence Valentino. Clarence’s corpse was being dissected every which way by a team at the Dulce Science Center, because he’d taken a huge dose of Surcenthumain, which meant he was finally a person of use and worth, at least in the realms of medical research.
“We need to get you here for a debrief.” Not that I wanted Buchanan to share this with Horn, or even the rest of the politicians in attendance.
“I am there, Missus Chief. Waiting for you in Mister Former Chief’s office.”
Didn’t even bother to ask how he’d gotten in or how long he’d been here. Buchanan had those Dr. Strange powers and moved in ways even more mysterious than Chuckie’s. Those ways had saved my life, and Jamie’s, more than once so far.
“Gotcha. We’ll be there in a flash. So to speak.” Hung up and rejoined the others. Shot everyone a bright smile. “I’m so sorry, but can I pull all my menfolk away for a minute or two?”
Got a variety of looks. None of them were enthusiastic, most of them were suspicious. Always the way.
Jeff sighed and nodded. “I think we’ll be brief.” He looked at the other A-C men. “Eat fast.” Turned to Chuckie. “Bring your plate. Everyone else, enjoy the luncheon portion of our meeting.”
Jeff then proceeded to finish his food using hyperspeed. The other A-C men were doing the same. Chose to not risk it and try to finish up eating using hyperspeed—smeared cream cheese on my face wouldn’t be much better than smeared syrup.
However, I was still hungry. Made two more lox, bagel, and cream cheese sandwiches, grabbed another Coke, got a glass of iced tea balanced on my plate, and headed for Jeff’s office. Proving he was indeed the smartest guy in any room, Chuckie had done the same.
We reached the door at the same time Jeff, Christopher, White, Gower, and Raj did. We were a well-oiled machine. At least, that was how I was choosing to look at us at the moment.
Buchanan was lounging at the edge of Jeff’s desk. Put my Coke down, handed him the iced tea, and put my plate down between him and my Coke. “One of those is mine, one is yours.”
He grinned as Jeff muttered quietly. “Missus Chief, I appreciate the thoughtfulness.”
“Want to tell us why you couldn’t walk down the hall for your lunch?” Jeff asked, sarcasm knob heading toward ten.
“Because what I have to tell you is classified and something we don’t want shared with random politicians. Or do you think your wife and I are trying to have a sexual tryst in front of all of you?”
Chuckie snorted a laugh. “He tends to think like that, yeah.”
“Hilarious.” Jeff sighed. “Fine, sorry, it’s already a tense day and it wasn’t supposed to be.”
“Yeah, and you don’t even know what my group went through.”
“I do,” Buchanan said. “And I think I’m about to make the day tenser.” He took a sip of the iced tea. “This is really good. I need to spend more time inside the Embassy.”
“You have something for us?” Christopher snapped. “Spill it or I’m going to join Jeff’s team and assume you just wanted to get Kitty alone.”
“Alone with five other men. Yeah, that sounds like my kind of party.” Buchanan’s sarcasm knob was already at eleven. He shot me a look I was familiar with, in part because I saw it from Chuckie all the time, too—the “are these guys for real?” look. He took a bite of his bagel. “Delicious. Thanks, Missus Chief.”
“You’re welcome. And, not to worry—everyone’s testy, perhaps from eating too fast. Chuckie and I are still consuming, so we’re not as tense. Anyway, Malcolm has information I foolishly thought you’d all want to hear firsthand. If you don’t, go back to the kitchen and Chuckie and I will handle it.”
Jeff rolled his eyes. “Pardon me. What’s going on?”
Buchanan took a bite. “You first, Missus Chief.”
“Fine.” Did a very high-level recap of my morning. “So, there you have it. Fun times had by all.”
Jeff ran his hand through his hair. “I’m sorry I wasn’t able to take your texts. Even more so because of this.”
“It happens, and we’re fine.”
“Your turn,” Christopher said to Buchanan.
Buchanan took another bite. Got the impression he was pissed about Jeff and Christopher’s bad attitudes and contemplating when and how much to share.
“We have information that a new drug is about to hit the streets,” Raj said, troubadour tones definitely on Soothe. “Which is what we were discussing when you called. This was after the new head of the F.B.I.’s Alien Affairs Division got everyone riled up by suggesting congressional hearings. He did it to get us upset, as near as we can tell, so let me apologize for all of us if we’re not being as receptive as we should be.”
Buchanan laughed. “The smartest thing Mister Former Chief’s ever done was to keep you on staff here full time.” He looked at Jeff. “I’ve had a long night and a very active morning, so I’m not in the mood for your jealousy crap. I’m never really in the mood for it, but I’m less so today. Keep in mind that the people I’m assigned to protect aren’t actually you. I don’t care if you like having me around or not. My boss, who is your mother-in-law, is ready to rip you a new one if I mention your attitude problems to her again. And yeah, that’s a threat.”
I wasn’t used to seeing Buchanan this openly aggressive toward Jeff, especially over such a small jealousy reaction. Sent Tito a text.
Jeff stared at him for a moment. “Oh. Sorry. You okay?”
“What?” Christopher asked, speaking for all of us.
Buchanan shrugged. “Tell them. Let’s see if you’re right.”
Jeff ran his hand through his hair again. “Ah, in addition to breaking up and arresting various mobs of protestors, he just had to beat down and arrest about a dozen people last night and this morning. They were setting bombs around the Zoo.”
“Bingo,” Buchanan said as he finished eating. “You are as good as Missus Chief always says. Now, do you want my information or do you want to piss me off some more?”
Tito came in with his Wand of Power. “I want to check you first. Per the Ambassador.”
Buchanan shook his head with a laugh. “Sure, why not?” He looked over to me as Tito ran the OVS over him. “Sorry I’m not in the calm, cool, and collected mode you’re used to.”
“Just want to be sure it’s really you.”
“Not a problem.”
Tito nodded. “True enough, there’s not a problem, in that sense. This is really Malcolm.” He cocked his head at Buchanan. “I want you coming up to the infirmary after this meeting, before you go anywhere else.”
“Why?” Seemed to me there was a problem if Tito wanted Buchanan at the infirmary sooner as opposed to later.
Buchanan grimaced. “He thinks this
could be a drug reaction.”
“It could be,” Tito confirmed. “I want to run tests. If the latent side effect of what you were hit with is increased irritability or aggression, that’s something we need to know now, in part so we can figure out how to counter it in you.”
One of the many side effects of Surcenthumain was to make the person taking it far more aggressive and more than a little paranoid. Christopher had handled that side effect better than Jeff or Serene had, possibly because he’d shot up willingly.
However, the drug Buchanan had been hit with had come out of the original project that had created Surcenthumain. Buchanan had no superpowers that we knew of, but if the aggression effect came later on, maybe those would as well.
“I’ll be there when we’re done,” Buchanan said. “Unlike some people, I don’t object to medical care.”
Jeff opened his mouth, then shut it. He looked worried, not angry or jealous. Which meant I was now officially worried.
“Malcolm, are you feeling okay?”
He heaved a sigh. “Somewhat. As you well know, Club Fifty-One is active again, and they’ve upped their game. I have teams assigned. I was hoping Reader or Crawford would be here. I need to discuss security issues with them.”
“They’re in Dulce,” Gower said. “There’s a Security training session going on they need to be a part of.”
“And we didn’t want Reader here in case Horn, our new F.B.I. best friend, tried anything,” Chuckie added, confirming my earlier theory. “You want to tell us what you want put in place and we’ll make it happen?”
Buchanan nodded. “You need agents put into every building in this area, embassies in particular. At least three Field teams per building.”
“Why? Club Fifty-One is all over the idea of blowing things up, I get it, and they’re seeming to live for mob protests, but that seems kind of excessive.”
“Missus Chief, I don’t do excessive. I do necessary. And it’s necessary.”
“Why?” Jeff asked. “Not arguing. Asking.”
Buchanan sighed again. “Because Club Fifty-One just got a new set of friends. One of them’s the Secretary of Transportation. And one of them’s the new head of Titan Security. Meaning your most coordinated enemies are being funded and given some really good weapons.”
