Kitty Goes to Washington kn-2

by Carrie Vaughn

  "We may not have a choice what happens."

  "Oh, there are always choices. Above all, the conclusion of these hearings must be that we are not a threat—to the public or to the government. You know very well we are not. We have regulated ourselves for centuries to ensure our secrecy, to ensure that the mortals don't have a reason to fear us and take action. It may be up to you to preserve that balance."

  And I was one of the reasons that secrecy was coming to an end. No pressure or anything. "I don't think I have that kind of authority—"

  "I think you sell yourself short. People listen to you, Kitty. You simply don't see it because you stay sheltered behind your microphone."

  She was implying that it was all make-believe to me. That I didn't believe I really had an audience.

  Maybe it was true. Here, for the first time, I was meeting some of my audience. I had to face them and stand up to defend all the stuff I'd been talking about on the air for the last year.

  So much easier to hide behind the microphone.

  "I'm only worrying about telling them the truth. I'm not going to be able to dictate what action the committee takes."

  "The implications may run far wider than you think. Have you ever seen someone burned at the stake? I have."

  Why was I not surprised? "It won't come to that. We've gotten past that."

  "Perhaps."

  Even with all the conversation, I'd managed to finish eating. The steak was good, and I'd been hungry. I tapped my fork—stainless steel, not silver, another courteous gesture from the mistress of the house—on the plate, fine china in some antique pattern. I should have been afraid of breaking it.

  "Flemming's the one who's going to swing this," I said. "He's the scientist, and he's the one who depends on the committee for his livelihood. They'll listen to him."

  Alette reached over and took the fork out of my hand, setting it down out of my reach. I stared at my hand, startled. I hadn't seen her coming. I hadn't had time to flinch. She said, "Are you suggesting we should be more worried about Flemming than Duke?"

  "Duke is predictable. We know exactly where he stands. But Flemming? I don't know anything about him. Look, Alette. I have to be able to get out and travel around without your people hanging around me. You're worried about me and I appreciate that, but I want to look around, find out more about Flemming and his research, see if I can't follow up on a few contacts. But I can't do that with Bradley or Leo looking over my shoulder. No one would talk to me. I'm not trying to be disrespectful of your hospitality. But I can take care of myself, at least a little, and I need some freedom." I'd had precisely two days to earn her trust. I didn't know if it was enough, especially since I'd already run off once. Er, twice. But if she wanted me as an ally, she had to know she couldn't keep me on a leash and expect me to be effective.

  "You aren't saying this just so you can run off with that were-jaguar from the Brazilian embassy, are you?"

  I shrank back in my seat and tried to look innocent. "Maybe just a little."

  She studied me, lips pursed in a wry smile. After a moment she said, "I don't suppose I could blame you for that. All right, then. But I want to hear what you learn on your investigations."

  "It's a deal." The kitchen staff came to clear away the dishes, then brought dessert: chocolate mousse in a crystal goblet. My God, what had I done to deserve dessert? The maid was human. I'd only seen a small fraction of the house. I was getting nervous. "Alette, can I ask—where are the others?"

  "Others?"

  "I've met you and Leo. But you must have other…" Minions? Lackeys? "… companions. Vampire companions."

  She suppressed a wry smile. "You're accustomed to Master vampires who surround themselves with followers, as reflections of their own importance."

  Vast halls filled with pouty Eurotrash vampires—yeah, that was the image.

  She said, "I'm extremely selective about who I bring into this life, this existence. It's not necessarily an easy way to be. I require pure motives. You've met no other vampires because there are none. Just the two of us. I would not tie someone to me for eternity lightly, Kitty."

  Then she saw something in Leo that I didn't. She might have looked forward to spending eternity with him. I couldn't stand being in the same room with him for a minute.

  Chapter 5

  The next day, I scoured newspapers and major news Web sites for mention of the hearings. I wanted to find out what the press was reporting. The only place that had any sort of major headline on the hearings was the Web site for Wide World of News: "Are Vampires Controlling the Senate?" That was so not useful. I stopped mentioning that rag entirely since they ran a "story" claiming that my show broadcast secret mind-control signals that caused teenagers to join satanic cults and run up huge debts on their parents' credit cards.

  Unless they involved epic disasters or scandals surrounding major political figures, Senate committee hearings didn't normally make front page news. "Fact-Finding Hearing Gets Its Start," on page four of the Washington Post, was about the extent. They ran a black and white photo of Flemming at his microphone, gazing up at the committee with his sleepy eyes. They also ran a fun little sidebar titled "What Are the Facts?" defining the scientific terminology the doctor had bandied about. It all served to make the topics seem like exactly what Flemming insisted they were: diseases. Nothing more, nothing less. Nothing to be afraid of, as long as we understood it. Maybe this would turn out all right.

  The next session of the hearings found me in the same place, sitting in the back of the room with Ben. Roger Stockton sat on the other side of the room from me, at the edge, where he could get a good shot of the participants with his camera. I caught him filming me a couple of times. I couldn't do anything about it without making a scene.

  Flemming testified for another two hours, suffering through more questions.

  Senator Deke Henderson, a Republican from Idaho, was one of those western politicians who played cowboy, to make themselves seem folksy and in touch with their roots. He wore a button-up rodeo shirt under a corduroy jacket and a big silver belt buckle. Outside the building, he'd put on the cowboy hat. He really had gotten his start in ranching, though, which gave him a hint of legitimacy. One couldn't be sure the outfit was a costume.

  Henderson said, "Now that you've studied these diseases, Doctor, how close are you to finding a cure? What program would you recommend for preventing the spread of these diseases?"

  Perfectly natural questions when confronted with any strange new disease. I listened closely to Flemming's answers.

  He cleared his throat nervously. "As diseases go, these are quite unusual, Senator. For one, while they're life-altering, they aren't particularly destructive. In fact, they're just the opposite. They confer on the patient extraordinary resilience, immunity, rapid healing. I've studied such aspects of these conditions in detail."

  "You haven't found a cure?"

  "No, Senator."

  "Have you even been looking?"

  After a long silence, Flemming said, calmly, "I have been studying the unique characteristics of these conditions in the hopes of understanding them. For instance, if we understood the mechanics behind a vampire's longevity, or behind a werewolf's resistance to disease and injury, think of the application to medicine. I have a case history here of a patient who tested positive for the HIV virus, became infected with lycanthropy, and then all subsequent HIV tests had negative results."

  Duke piped in. "You'd turn everyone into werewolves to keep them from getting AIDS? Is that what you're saying?"

  "No, of course not. But I think you'll agree, the more knowledge we have about these conditions, the more power we have over them."

  Duke leaned back and smiled. I couldn't see Flemming's face, which frustrated me. The two of them looked like they'd exchanged one of those all-knowing glances, like they'd just made a deal under the table in full view of everyone.

  I had only assumed that the scientist and religious reactionary could neve
r work together. I hadn't considered that they both wanted the same thing: to prove that this was real, for good or ill.

  Ben and I exited into the corridor after the hearing adjourned for the day.

  I leaned close, so I'd have less chance of being overheard. Especially by Stockton, who was busy cornering Flemming.

  "Flemming's got to have an office somewhere in D.C. Can you find out where? I have his phone number if that helps."

  He pulled a sheet of paper from the outside pocket of his briefcase and handed it to me. "Already done."

  The sheet was blank letterhead with Flemming's name on it, and an address at the National Institutes of Health medical complex in Bethesda.

  I beamed. "Thanks, Ben. You're the best."

  "That's my job." I'd turned to leave when he said, "Wait. I found out a little more about him. He say anything to you about serving in the army?"

  "Flemming was in the army?"

  "Yeah. I've got a request in for a copy of his service record, I'll know more then. There's also a CIA connection."

  I huffed. "You're kidding. That's just a little too outrageous to believe." I stared at the blank sheet of letterhead, like it would offer up the truth about the real Flemming.

  Ben shrugged, unapologetic. "Just watch your back."

  Too many questions and not enough time to look for answers. I tossed him a mock salute before jogging out of there.

  I turned my cell phone back on when I left the building. Caller ID showed three missed calls, all from my mother. I thought the worst: there'd been an accident. Someone had died. Quickly, I dialed her back.

  "Mom?"

  "Kitty! Hi!"

  "What's wrong?"

  "Nothing."

  I rolled my eyes and suppressed curses. "Did you call me earlier?"

  "Yes, I had to ask you, your father says he saw you on C-SPAN this afternoon at those hearings they're doing on vampires. You were sitting in the audience. Now, I didn't think that could possibly be right. You weren't on C-SPAN, were you?"

  I hesitated a beat. It wasn't that she was going to be angry that I was on television. No, she was going to be angry that I didn't tell her I was going to be on television so she could call all the relatives and set the timer on the VCR to record it.

  "Dad watches C-SPAN?" I said.

  "He was flipping channels," she said defensively.

  I sighed. "Yes, he probably saw me on C-SPAN. I was in the audience."

  "Well, isn't that exciting?"

  "Not really. It's kind of nerve wracking. I'm supposed to testify at some point."

  "You'll have to let us know when, so we can tape it."

  This wasn't the school play. But I wasn't going to convince her of that. "That's cool, Mom. Look, I have someplace I need to be. I'll talk to you later, okay?"

  "Okay—I'll have to call your father and tell him about this."

  "Okay, Mom. Bye—"

  "I love you, Kitty."

  "You, too, Mom." I hung up. Why did I always feel guilty hanging up on her?

  I didn't have time to track Flemming down that afternoon. I had an appointment.

  At 3:55, I was at the Crescent, sitting at the table by the bar, with a soda in front of me and a glass of schnapps in front of an empty chair. Right on schedule, the old man entered the club. He'd walked another three steps before he stopped, frozen in place, and stared at me.

  I hadn't asked how long he'd been coming here. Probably since long before Jack started working here. When was the last time someone had interrupted his routine? I could almost see his thoughts working themselves out on his furrowed, anxious face as he processed this new event, this wrinkle in his life.

  I nodded at the empty chair in invitation, but I didn't smile, and I didn't look directly at him. Staring might have been a challenge; smiling might have showed teeth, also a challenge. I worked on being quiet and submissive, like a good younger wolf in the pack. If his body was sliding more to the wolf half, I had to assume his mind was as well, and that those were the cues he would read.

  Slowly, watching me carefully the whole time, he came to the table and took the empty seat.

  "What do you want?" he said in a pronounced German accent. His voice was gravelly.

  "To talk. I collect stories, sort of. I'm guessing you have some pretty good ones."

  "Bah." He took a swallow from the glass. "There is nothing to talk about."

  "Nothing at all?"

  "You think that a pretty young thing like you will soften an old man's heart, with drink and blushing? No."

  "I'm new in town," I said, soldiering on. "I came here for the first time two nights ago, and I'm just trying to learn as much as I can before I have to leave. I've been pretty sheltered until now. I was in a pack for a while. It wasn't anything like this."

  "You came from a pack?" His eyebrows bunched together in curiosity.

  I knew if I kept rambling long enough he'd interrupt. I nodded earnestly.

  He scowled and shook his head. "The pack. Is archaic. In the old days, we needed it for protection. To defend against hunters, against rivals, against the vampires. Now? Easier to buy each other off. All the packs will go away soon, trust me."

  I thought about Carl, my former alpha, running his pack into the ground to maintain his own sense of importance, and hoped he was right.

  "My name's Kitty," I said.

  He arched that peculiar brow at me. "A joke?"

  " 'Fraid not." I'd never seen much reason to change my name just because it had become a hideous irony.

  He stared at me long and hard, like he was deciding whether or not to give something valuable away. Finally, he said, "Fritz."

  "Nice to meet you, Fritz."

  "Bah. You'll go away and in a week I won't remember you." He regarded his glass thoughtfully for a moment, then shook his head. "On second thought, you I will remember. Kitty." He snorted a brief laugh.

  I had to smile. It heartened me that he could be amused by something, anything, and the icy wall around him seemed to chip a little.

  He drained his glass, as he'd done the day before.

  "Can I get you another one?"

  He shook his head as he pushed back his chair. "Only one. Then I go. Goodbye."

  "Where?" I blurted. "I mean, you obviously live in D.C. But what do you do? Where do you go?"

  I'd said too much, crossed a line before earning his trust. He'd never talk to me again. He threw a glare over his shoulder and strode out the door, shrugging deeper into his coat.

  Jack came over to pick up the empty glass and wipe down the table. "Good work," he said. "I've been here for a year and never heard him say more than one word."

  I needed more than one word if I was going to get him to tell me his story. If I was going to convince him to tell his story on my show… But I was getting ahead of myself.

  Then Luis walked through the door, and all such thoughts left my brain entirely. My giddy smile grew even giddier when I saw the same smile on him. He took me out for seafood, then back to his place, and Leo didn't break down the door on us this time.

  The next morning, I drove to Bethesda and looked for Dr. Flemming.

  The letterhead located him at the Magnuson Clinical Center, a research hospital that dated back to the fifties. I had to check in at the front gate of the campus, show ID and everything. I told them up front that I was visiting Flemming. Since the campus included several working hospitals, security was used to visitors. They gave me a pass and let me in.

  Flemming's office was in the basement. I made my way from elevator to corridor, unsure of what I'd find. Fluorescent lighting glared off scuffed tile floors and off-white walls. I passed one plain beige door after another, marked with plastic nameplates, white letters indented into black backgrounds. At the ends of corridors, safety notices advised passersby about what they should do in case of emergency, red lines moving through floor plans helpfully directing them to the nearest exit. Wherever our taxpayer dollars were going, it wasn't for interio
r decorating.

  The place smelled like a hospital, antiseptic and sickly. The vigilant attempts at cleanliness were never able to completely hide the illness, the decay, the fact that people here were hurting and unhappy. I didn't want to breathe too deeply.

  I found Flemming's nameplate at the end of a little-used hallway, after passing several unmarked doors. I hadn't seen another person in the last five minutes. It seemed like he'd been relegated to the place where he'd be most out of the way.

  I knocked on the door and listened. Somebody was inside. Leaning close to the door, I tried to make out the noises. A mechanical whirring sound, almost constant. Crunching paper. A paper shredder, working overtime.

  And if that wasn't enough to make me suspicious…

  I knocked louder and tried the doorknob. It was locked, requiring a magnetic key card to open. No sneaking in and catching the good doctor unawares, alas. I rattled the knob insistently. The paper shredder whined down and stopped. I waited to hear footsteps, heavy breathing, the sound of a gun being cocked, anything. Had Flemming—or whoever was in there—snuck out the back? I wondered if Bradley had a lock pick that worked on card readers.

  I considered: was I ready to stoop to going through Flemming's waste bin, piecing together strips of shredded documents, to find out what his research really involved and what he was hiding?

  I wasn't any good at puzzles.

  Then, the footsteps I'd been waiting to hear sounded, the slap of loafers on linoleum.

  "Yes?" a voice said. It was Flemming.

  I put on my happiest radio voice. "Hi! Is this where we sign up for tours of the lab?"

  The lock clicked and the door opened a crack. Flemming stared back at me with a startled, wide-eyed expression. "You shouldn't be here."

  He turned away, leaving the door open. I considered it an invitation and stepped inside.

  The place was a mess. I wanted to say like a tornado had struck, but that wasn't right. The chaos had a settled look to it, as if it had accumulated over time, like sediment through the eons. Flemming must have been the kind of person who organized by piling. Papers, file folders, books, trade journals, clipboards—that was just what I saw on a cursory glance. The stacks crowded the floor around the pair of desks, lurked in corners, and blocked the bookshelves that lined the walls. Three computers, older models, hunched on the desks. If I had expected the gleaming inhumanity of a high-tech, secret government laboratory, I was disappointed. This was more like a faculty office at a poorly funded university department. A second door in the back led to who-knew-where. Probably a collection of coats and umbrellas. It had a frosted window inset into it, but the other side was dark.