Alien Tango

by Gini Koch

  The elbow is the hardest bone in the human body, and I’d taken kung fu for many years and, as I’d told Chuckie, I was seriously training again. I did an elbow slam right under his chin. His head went back, and he went out.

  “Can we?” Joe asked.

  “Be my guest.”

  They dropped him on the floor.

  Jerry grinned. “I love working for you.”

  CHAPTER 25

  I TOOK A DEEP BREATH, did a quick check to make sure my breasts were still in my top and my top was still in my jacket. Intact but pretty much wrecked. Although the Dulce Science Center seemed to have the best dry cleaners on the planet hidden in there somewhere. Of course, it looked as though it was going to be a long time before I got back home.

  Unfortunately, I hadn’t put my hair in a ponytail. That should mean I resembled a drowned cat right about now. Oh, well, nothing for it. I put my shoulders back and turned around.

  Martini was watching me, arms crossed over his chest, a small smile on his face. He looked close to normal if I could avoid staring at the spot in his chest where the needle had gone in—that was red and already bruising. Christopher was next to him, hands on his hips, surveying the scene. He looked okay, too. The others were there as well now. Gower had his arm around Reader’s shoulders, but they both looked fine, Tim as well.

  “Okay, so all of Alpha Team’s accounted for and alive.” I looked to Martini, Sr. He was standing near his son, but not as close as Christopher was. Not a surprise from what I’d picked up, but a disappointment. He was a little shorter than his son, but only by an inch or so. I put my hand out. “I’m Katherine Katt, Mr. Martini. Pleased to meet you.”

  He looked at my hand but didn’t offer his. I could see out of the corner of my eye, and his whole body had gone tense; Christopher had on Martini’s shoulder. Martini, Sr., looked at my face. “We don’t shake hands with people we care about . . . or who care about us.” He walked over and hugged me.

  I thought I was going to faint, but I managed to recover and just hug him back. Martini looked beyond relieved.

  We pulled apart. “May I call you Kitty?”

  “Sure, Mr. Martini, I’d like that.”

  He smiled, and I saw Martini’s grin. Frankly, I saw Martini’s everything—hair, eyes, chin, face, body structure—just a few decades older. Genetics, you had to love it. Martini was going to age incredibly well. “I’d be pleased if you’d call me Alfred. Mr. Martini seems a bit formal.”

  Well, I didn’t call anyone but the Sovereign Pontifex “Mr.,” and most of the time White asked me to call him Richard. “Okay, Alfred. Thank you.” I knew I’d passed some sort of test, but I wasn’t sure if it was the final or merely a pop quiz.

  “Thank you for saving us. Again, from what I’ve heard.”

  No time like the present. “Jeff saved you, I didn’t. If he hadn’t blocked you, you’d be dead.”

  Lorraine nodded and then went behind Martini to check on her main patient.

  Alfred, as I now forced myself to think of him, gave me a long, penetrating look. “But you saved Jeffrey. And that matters more to me.” I could see Martini—he looked shocked, but he put a bland look on his face as his father turned to him. Alfred reached for him, then stopped. “Lorraine, is he—?”

  She nodded again. “I’m so good at this. Yeah, he’s fine, or pretty much so.”

  Alfred hugged his son, tightly. I saw Martini’s face and got the impression this didn’t happen all that often. Christopher’s expression confirmed this as a rarity. Alfred pulled him into the embrace now.

  “Well done,” Gower whispered in my ear. “And thank you, for more than just saving our lives.”

  I needed someone to hold me all of a sudden, and I didn’t want to break up the Martini family reunion. I turned to Gower, and he put his arm around me and hugged me. A-Cs were a lot more in tune with things, even the ones who weren’t empathic. Reader put his arm around me, and we had our own group hug going.

  “I’m seriously talking to Paul about that bi option of yours,” Reader whispered to me. I started to crack up. Thankfully, I managed to keep from moving into hysterics, but that was due more to Turco’s men racing back with a lot of paper.

  Kevin took over. “We’re in the Kennedy Space Center and you bring paper printouts? What year is this, nineteen-sixty-two?”

  “She wanted something in her hand,” one of them panted.

  “Fine,” I said. “We’ll take the paper.” I finally took a calm look around. We were in what looked almost like an auto shop—concrete floor, lots of hoses, what looked like oil stains—only bigger and without cars up on hydraulic lifts. There were a lot of Authorized Personnel signs in evidence, but no offices or even desks; however there was a lot of equipment, most of which I couldn’t identify. Whatever they did here, it seemed to involve big drums with the various warnings plastered on them.

  The fire had started among what looked like a group of five these drums. They were all charred and melted, what was left of them, anyway, but unlike the other drums and equipment, they weren’t against the far walls. They were nearest to a door that said Essential Personnel—not right next to it, about ten paces away. We were lucky the fire hadn’t spread—clearly there were enough drums around to have created a fireball. But it hadn’t.

  I looked at Alfred. He was in the standard-issue Armani suit, so there was no way he worked in this area normally. He’d undoubtedly come through that Essential Personnel door. I turned around. There were other doors, marked for mechanics, maintenance, and deliveries. There were security cameras trained on every, single one of them.

  The path we’d come through was marked Air Arrivals, and it had a little stand, under a sign labeled Security Check, that was clearly where the persons who verified who was entering were supposed to be. There were security cameras here, too, but there was no one there, and another look around told me the only people in Security uniforms were the ones who’d come in with Turco. They were all dry.

  I filed this all away and got back to the matter at hand. “Paul, I want to keep James with me, but can you and Tim take Chip and Matt and go with Kevin to wherever these guys keep their computers? Please make sure whatever terminals they have are safe to use.” Gower nodded. “Oh, and take your special case, too.” I had no idea where their invisible rocket launchers were, but I was now firmly on the side of our carrying them with us everywhere.

  This team went off with Turco’s men. Turco himself was coming around. I resisted the impulse to give him a side blade kick to the head. Claudia and Randy had rounded up everyone’s luggage, including what Christopher and I had left in the ramp area. Claudia gave me my shoes, and I kept them in my hand—they were the only part of my outfit not wrecked. My Motley Crue shirt I draped over the handle of my rolling bag. It was black and would probably recover.

  “I want to change clothes.”

  “Brushing your hair wouldn’t go amiss, either,” Reader offered.

  “Wow, trying to remember why I wanted you with me.”

  Reader took the pack of paper out of my hands. “Because I live for the light reading.”

  I looked at Alfred. “Is there somewhere I can go and change?”

  “There is, but the jet is probably the safest place right now.”

  “Unless someone tries to blow it up while I’m in there.”

  “I’ll go with you,” Martini said. “Can I put a shirt back on?” he asked Lorraine.

  “Cotton undershirt only,” Lorraine said briskly. Martini glared at her. She glared back. He won. “Fine,” she said with an exasperated sigh. “Shirt over cotton undershirt, only, no jacket, no tie, at least not yet.” She gave us both a glare and I found myself wondering how closely related to Christopher she was. “No strenuous physical activity for Jeff for hours. Days would be better.”

  Martini snorted. “Yeah, tell that to the people trying to kill us. Maybe they’ll lay off for a while.”

  I had to give it to the A-C clothing choices,
or, as I thought of them, the Armani Fatigues. The clothes were wet but still managed to look good on everyone. My flyboys were in Navy uniforms, and they looked pretty decent, too. Basically, I was the only one who looked like crap.

  Alfred didn’t seem to object to our leaving. “I’ll take the rest to my offices,” he told Martini. He turned to me. “But what do you want to do about Turco?”

  “I suppose killing him is out. Kidding!” I said to the shocked looks. Well, sort of kidding. “Let’s keep him with us. I don’t trust him.” I remembered Karl Smith’s last words—I didn’t trust anyone. Other than Alfred, at the moment, since I had a hard time buying that he’d tried to kill himself along with his son. Unless Martini’s mother was that hard to live with.

  Jerry nodded. “Joe and I’ll run herd on our little friend, Commander, no worries.”

  The others left us, Reader carrying Martini’s invisible case, and the two of us headed back to the jet. “I’ve never been here before. Does everyone get the exploding tour?”

  Martini managed to chuckle. “Only the lucky ones.” He wasn’t touching me, and I wondered why. “I just want to be away from anyone else and then I’ll happily hold you.”

  “How—?”

  “Empath. Try to keep up.”

  “Humph.” We rounded the ramp’s corner, and Martini moved in front of me. “Jeff, I don’t think anyone snuck in there.”

  “I don’t want to find out you’re wrong.”

  He had a point, and we continued in single file until we reached the jet. His back looked amazingly good considering how awful it had looked just a short while before. Whatever Lorraine had done was indeed good—there were no more patches, and as I watched, the last of the stitches dissolved. I could tell it was still tender, though. His butt, on the other hand, looked spectacular, so I could reassure myself that much, if not all, was well with the world.

  Once in the jet, Martini moved to hyperspeed and checked everything out. “All clear, including the cache.” He closed the hatch after me and locked it.

  We went into the bedroom. “Do I need to hook you up to anything?”

  “Not if Lorraine didn’t tell you to. I feel fine.”

  “You really suck at the lying.”

  Martini reached out and pulled me into his arms. I buried my face in his chest, while he stroked my back and kissed my head. I was crashing down from the adrenaline rush and wanted to cry but didn’t want to take the time or upset him. “Go ahead, baby,” he murmured. “It’s okay, I’m here, and it’s just us.”

  “No, I just want to get out of these wet clothes.”

  He helped me out of my clothes. He made some amorous suggestions, but I could tell that while the mind was willing, the body was weak. Martini looked as though he could use a nap of at least twelve hours.

  I changed into clean and, most importantly, dry panties, then got him out of his pants. Controlled the impulses and put him into dry underwear as well. “Let’s lie down and rest for a couple of minutes.”

  Martini managed a weak grin. “Only because I’m sure you’re tired.”

  “Absolutely. It’s all about me, Jeff, not you.”

  He nodded. “I think I need to lie on my stomach.”

  “No problem.” I lay down, head on the pillows. He crawled on top of me, nestled his head between my breasts, heaved a sigh, and was out like a light.

  I stroked his head and hair and tried not to worry. Normally the adrenaline didn’t wear off for hours. But Martini was now snoring softly. I hadn’t seen Lorraine give him anything that would put him out, so he was hurting more than he wanted to admit, which wasn’t a surprise.

  I knew we had to get up, get dressed, and get back into action. But I didn’t want to. No matter how I looked at it—either third time being the charm or three strikes and you were out—we’d been lucky twice, and I didn’t know if we were on a streak or had used up all the luck we were going to get.

  In the middle of action or not, I fell asleep. We probably would have stayed there for hours, or until someone came to get us, but my phone rang. We both jerked awake, and Martini grumbled, sighed, and moved off me. “At least it’s not Mr. My Best Friend.” He picked up my purse and looked for my phone. Then he gave up. “I don’t know how you find anything in here, ever.” He handed the purse to me and sat down on the side of the bed.

  I pulled the phone out. “I’m a girl.” It had stopped ringing, but the number listed on my cell wasn’t one I knew. I dialed it back and they answered on the first ring. “Hello? You tried to reach me, I think?”

  I didn’t recognize the voice, and it was muffled well enough that I couldn’t tell if it was male or female. “Get out of Florida and stay out, or we’ll kill you and your boyfriend, too.”

  CHAPTER 26

  WE WERE IN ALFRED’S OFFICE. I was in jeans, my Converse, and an Aerosmith T-shirt. Clearly, I needed the support of my boys. My hair was in a ponytail, and I had a Glock in my purse and one shoved into the back of my pants—with the safety on. Purse loaded with clips, refilled harpoon materials, and everything else I could think of. Ready for anything.

  Martini and I had napped long enough that Alfred had had some food brought in for the team. It was almost one in the afternoon, and though I hadn’t eaten since dinner the night before, I wasn’t really hungry. I was too busy trying to figure out what was going to attack us next.

  Turco was, I was happy to note, tied to a chair and seemed unconscious. “What happened?”

  Jerry grinned. “He was starting to be a pain. So ... ” He shrugged.

  Christopher nodded. “We knocked him out.”

  “It made eating more pleasant,” Claudia added.

  “I like the gag in his mouth and the tissues shoved into his ears. Nice touch.”

  “We don’t want him listening in,” Reader said. “Think we should put a bag over his head?”

  “Plastic, for preference.”

  “No,” Martini said as he finished his sandwich, while I tried to ignore the shocked look on Alfred’s face. “I’ll monitor and let you know if he wakes up.”

  I wasn’t sure that Martini was up to using his empathic skills right now but decided not to argue. He was back in the Armani Fatigues, carrying a jacket. For some reason, the A-C males really liked to work in a full-on suit, and I could tell he was uncomfortable being this casual. He looked great, though—white shirt with the sleeves rolled up and the top couple of buttons open, undershirt just showing, black slacks, black jacket hanging over one arm. Shockingly, looking at him made me want to go back to the jet and not rest.

  Sadly, that wasn’t an option. Alfred had run the number of my mystery caller, and it had originated in the Space Center. However, it was from a general phone in the reception area, and we couldn’t find a witness who’d seen anyone near it.

  “How did they get my number?”

  “No idea,” Martini said. “How many people have it?”

  I thought about it. I’d gotten a new phone after Operation Fugly—A-C designed, meaning it survived just fine in all forms of weather and trauma. However, I’d kept the same number I always had. It hadn’t seemed like a security breach at the time. “Well, pretty much everyone who knows me. But that would mean my stalker is either a Centaurion operative, a family member, one of my friends from school or work, or someone on Mom’s team.”

  “All unlikely,” Martini said.

  “But, as we’ve learned, not impossible.” Christopher sounded as upset as I felt.

  Jerry looked thoughtful. “It could be someone who works here, without too much trouble.”

  “How so?”

  “There are only so many cellular carriers. If I called up with the right government clearance, I could get a listing of all Katts within minutes. How many Katherine Katts could there be?”

  “Probably more than just me—my parents can’t be the only ones with a sense of humor.”

  Jerry grinned. “True, but not that many. And probably not too many living in Pueblo Cal
iente.”

  “Yeah, just me, I think.”

  He shrugged. “So, easy. Look for whoever within the Space Center has the clearance level high enough to get this kind of information out of the cellular companies, and we have either our man or our limited number of options.”

  “Might have had an underling make the call,” Alfred mentioned.

  Jerry shrugged again. “We’ll still find the person with the access.”

  “Could be someone lower, who faked the authority,” Reader said.

  “Yeah, but I think Jerry’s on the right track.” I took a deep breath. “So, at the risk of sounding like I’m cavalier about living, what are they really trying to keep us away from?”

  “What do you mean?” Christopher asked.

  “Jeff took a call from Alfred. Everyone went into high risk mode. And from that moment on, something and many someones have been trying to keep us from dealing with whatever it was that put us into action in the first place.”

  “I called because an unknown entity attached to and infiltrated a craft Michael Gower was in,” Alfred supplied. “I’m not sure these things are related.”

  “I am,” Reader and I said in unison.

  Martini and Christopher both glared. I laughed. “We’re human, we think alike.”

  Reader grinned. “We’re both brilliant, too. That helps. But, seriously, the goal was to find out what happened to the Valiant. And we still don’t know.”

  “Let’s find out now, before we do anything else.”

  “I’d like to find out who’s trying to kill us,” Martini said dryly.

  “I really think we’ll have a better chance of that if we take care of whatever happened on the Valiant.”

  “I’m already having Paul run a cross-check on all personnel against Club 51, Howard Taft, and Leventhal Reid,” Reader said. “He’ll call if they find anything. Our favorite Fed’s alerted your mother to what’s going on.”

  “Good, I hope she’s got some helpful suggestions.” I turned back to Alfred. “Is Kennedy’s security on vacation or lowered alert status or something?”