Alien vs. Alien

by Gini Koch

  No, the avian beast only deigned to sit on White’s shoulder. I took this to mean Bellie was aware of who the highest-ranking male was in whatever room she was in and, since she clearly had her standards, would only be with him.

  Once our horrible parrot was taken care of, Buchanan headed for the stairway that took us down to the garage, which was not the stairway that took us down to the basement. Bellie was mercifully silent, no doubt because White was giving her a lot of attention and more than a few bird treats.

  “So, Malcolm, what’s our plan?”

  “I’m thinking we go duck hunting.”

  The other men stared at him. I, on the other hand, was pretty sure I knew what he meant. “You want to use Armstrong’s limo as a decoy.”

  “That’s actually a good idea,” Tito said approvingly.

  “How does that prevent Evan from telling our enemies, if he’s in fact a spy of some kind?” Armstrong asked.

  “Oh, I don’t care if he’s a spy,” Buchanan said. “Because we’re going to give him an assignment. Senator, make sure you sell it in a way he’ll believe.”

  “Sell what? I don’t know your plan.”

  “Malcolm wants you to sell whatever he’s going to say as truth in advertising.”

  “Actually,” Buchanan said with a grin, “I want you to tell him, Missus Chief.”

  “Figures. So what am I telling him to do? Pretend he has all of us in the limo as a decoy and drive to the senator’s offices so the bad guys think we’re going there when we are, in fact, going to Andrews Air Force Base to warn of imminent alien attack?”

  “See? I knew you’d figure it all out, Missus Chief.”

  “That could work,” Armstrong said slowly. “Either he’ll lead another tail off and away, or he’ll tell our enemies that we’re

  heading to Andrews. Either way, more of our enemies are somewhere other than around us and potentially more confused.” Tito and White both nodded their agreement.

  “Really? If I’d come up with this without Malcolm leading the way, right now, at this very moment, you’d all be telling me I was crazy and that it’d never work.”

  “Oh, we didn’t say it wasn’t crazy,” Tito said.

  “We also didn’t say it would work, merely that it could,” White added. “You know, Missus Martini—like most of our plans.”

  “And it really does sound like a plan of yours, Kitty,” Tito added.

  “Because it is a plan of mine. I just laid it out, Malcolm didn’t.”

  Buchanan clapped me on the shoulder. “Great plan, there, Missus Chief. Let’s see how it works.”

  I heaved a sigh as we headed for Armstrong’s limo. “Malcolm, I’m seriously considering the benefits of hating you right now.”

  “Good. That’ll make your husband happy.”

  Yi

  CHAPTER 50

  I COULDN’T TELL IF ARMSTRONG’S DRIVER was on his side or an evil bad guy, but Evan seemed clear on his duties and drove off as requested.

  “How do we tell if he’s doing what we want or not?”

  “We don’t care,” Buchanan replied. “We need to focus on the important things, like what’s really going on and where your husband and Reynolds are.”

  Buchanan went to one of our regular limos. We had several—enough to evacuate the entire Embassy via car if necessary. Buchanan chose one without a car seat in it; he got behind the wheel, Tito took shotgun, and the rest of us climbed into the back.

  “Kyle always gets the door.”

  “I’m a doctor,” Tito shared. “If you’re hurt, I’ll get the door for you. Otherwise, I thought you were an emancipated woman.”

  “I am. I’m also saying that shotgun gets the doors. It’s in the A-C Limo Handbook. I mean, dude, Christopher got the doors when I first met these guys when he had shotgun, and he was the Head of Imageering at the time. You’re saying you’re too good to get the door?”

  “No. I’m saying that Christopher was clearly trying to impress you. I’m not.”

  “He has a point,” White mentioned.

  I snorted. “I remember my first introductions to your son. His version of ‘impress’ and mine differ.”

  “Hence why you’re happily married to my nephew.”

  “Speaking of whom.” I checked my phone. Nothing. From Jeff or Chuckie. This boded. I couldn’t believe both of them would ignore my “I’m worried, where are you?” texts, at least not willingly.

  “Why aren’t we moving?” Armstrong asked.

  “We’re waiting,” Buchanan replied. “To give whoever’s following your driver time to get out of range. Or to let him call and advise the bad guys that we’re actually heading to Andrews.”

  “Should we have the laser shield on?”

  “You’re jumpy.” Buchanan turned around and gave me a searching look. His expression softened. “We’ll find them. I promise.” He turned back and turned on the stereo. “Watching the Detectives” by Elvis Costello came on.

  While we waited and Elvis crooned in his hipster way, I sent texts to Naomi and Abigail. They answered pretty quickly. “Per Mimi and Abby, there’s been a lot of little skirmishes that our agents have controlled. The Mall’s packed, so it’s hard to pick anyone out. They’re under orders to pay attention to assassination-type thoughts, and there are so many people there they can’t actually spare the focus to look for Jeff or Chuckie.”

  Or, per Naomi, to fill me in on everything going on. She insinuated that my presence would be a good idea, though. At least if I took “you coming to find them probably would be a good idea” to mean she wanted me there. Which I did.

  We had time for “Dirty Dˀo fieeds Done Dirt Cheap” by AC/DC and “Round and Round” by Aerosmith to finish before Buchanan drove off. We left the garage to the sounds of Soundgarden’s “Fell on Black Days.” I really hoped the song wasn’t going to turn out to be prophetic.

  By now, my anxiety was such that I’d expect Jeff to call. I’d sent several texts to him, and he hadn’t replied, so I wasn’t trying to hide my emotions from him.

  Decided to call Amy while we drove in an unhurried manner toward the Mall section of D.C. “Hey, Kitty, what’s up?”

  “I was just going to ask you the same thing, Ames.”

  “All quiet here.”

  “Really? I hear what I could politely call a commotion.”

  “I meant figuratively, as in nothing’s happening, no one has attacked, and it’s quiet and boring. And what you’re hearing isn’t a commotion so much as what it’s like here right now, which is sort of like being in Grand Central Station at rush hour. What are you up to?”

  “We’re heading to the International One World Festival. Anything you want to tell me before we get there?”

  “Yeah. Hang on.” Amy was quiet for a few moments, but I could still hear the sounds of a lot of people around her. “Sorry, had to get away from Christopher without him noticing. Lorraine and Claudia and I agreed that whoever you called first would tell you about all the things that’ve been kept from you.”

  “Good. And thanks.”

  “It makes no sense that you’re not told, and, frankly, while I get that Chuck’s job is in peril if you know, I think more will be in peril if you don’t know.”

  “Chuckie included.”

  “Right. So, anyway, while we were in Florida, a lot of terrorist threats were identified, focused on the Festival.”

  “Okay, we figured that out. And that’s why the Bahraini and Israeli Embassies are extra hyper about the break-in and subsequent accusations.”

  “Yes, only . . . there’s more. The terrorist organization that’s popped the most is supposedly defunct.”

  My brain had the ability to move at lightning speed at times, and this was one of those times. “The Al Dejahl terrorist organization is back in action, isn’t it?”

  “Yes.”

  “And that’s why everyone views this as a threat to me. Because I took out Ronaldo Al Dejahl and was the main reason Ronnie Junior had
to take to the stars to escape.” Which was why Claudia and Lorraine were set on telling me. Because they knew I’d be safer prepared.

  “Right. Kitty, be careful. Remember in Paris—my dad and his insane friends thought Jamie could teleport herself to Jeff in order to save him. If any of them are behind this, they’ll be willing to try that on you, too. And we don’t know if they’re right or not.”

  “ACE won’t let Jamie do it.”

  “You hope. You don’t know.”

  “True.” I took a deep breath. “This helps, Ames, thanks. Is there anything else?”

  “Yes. So far as anyone’s told me, my wicked stepmother and her boyfriend aren’t back on the planet.”

  “Do you believe that information?”

  “I don’t know. I find it hard to believe everyone would have left us in Florida with so little protection if LaRue was known to be back.”

  “Good point. Okay, we’re almost there. I’ll check in when I can.”

  “Do. I’ll text if I learn anything else.”

  “You’re the best Ames. Hang in there.” We hung up as “M.I.A.” by the Foo Fighters came on. This song was definitely prophetic. Maybe we needed to focus on Boy Band Pop for a while, just to get things back to a more positive audio atmosphere.

  “Did I hear you correctly?” White asked quietly.

  “Sadly, yes.” I contemplated what I could say in front of Armstrong and went with the plan that I’d worry about him being our main problem later. I shared Amy’s intel. “So, the reason they don’t want me here is to protect me. Sweet, isn’t it?”

  “You know our enemies know you,” Tito said. “And the fastest way to get you out of hiding is to threaten Jeff, or Reynolds, for that matter.”

  “Any of you,” Buchanan corrected as we reached the Mall area. “She’s not good at hiding out when people she knows are in danger.”

  “It’s a weakness they’re exploiting,” Armstrong said.

  “They get to win this battle, then.” But not the war. I’d never let them win that.

  Yi

  CHAPTER 51

  THE NATIONAL MALL wasn’t a big shopping center. It was a huge park with a lot of national landmarks and awesome museums bordering it. The Lincoln Memorial was at one end, and the Capitol Building was at the other, with the Washington Monument sort of in the middle. Aerosmith had played here, as well as a lot of other bands, and the International One World Festival was just the latest in a long line of events that had been held here.

  Being Tourist Mecca for the D.C. area meant, in the weird way I was getting used to with the East Coast, that the Mall didn’t have great parking as a general rule. On an average day it was hard to find parking. Today it was insane. “Malcolm, what are we going to do with the limo? Are you dropping us off and going back to the Embassy?”

  “No. Just hang on.” We were near the Smithsonian Metro station when he found what he was looking for—the entrance to an underground parking garage. It had a big sign stating that it was for Employees Only and that there was no event or Mall parking ever allowed. It also required a keycard for entry. Buchanan pulled a card out of his wallet, put it in, and the gate raised. We drove in.

  “You don’t work here for real, do you?” Maybe this was the P.T.C.U.’s hidden headquarters.

  “No. The P.T.C.U. and the C.I.A. have all the cool toys.”

  “Works for me.” Maybe I’d still check it out later, when things were quiet, to see if this was where Mom and her Gang of Cool Kick Butt Cats hung out during the nonengagement hours.

  We parked. It was Sunday, so the parking lot wasn’t packed, but Buchanan still chose a section that was pretty isolated. We unloaded, parrot and all, and Buchanan hit the Invisibility Shield. The limo disappeared.

  “Nifty. How will we find it again to ensure we can leave, let alone ensure it’s not hit by someone else trying to park?”

  Buchanan pointed to the sign above where he’d parked us—Reserved for Government Vehicles.

  “Hope no one tries to come in to catch up on their work while everyone else is having fun.”

  Buchanan shrugged. “I have the laser shield activated, too. They’ll bounce off. We can worry about the car or we can do what we came for.”

  “Good point. Again.” We headed off for the real action while I worked on not allowing my stress level to affect my ability to look at the big picture. Wasn’t impressed with my results.

  Felt a nudge. Looked down to see Bruno walking alongside, like the best trained dog in the world. It was oddly reassuring to have him here, though. He looked up at me and gave me the “we’ll handle it” look. He then craned his neck up so I could easily and surreptitiously pat his head.

  “Shall we move at hyperspeed?” White asked me, with a smile for Bruno.

  “Not sure the parrot can handle it, to be honest.”

  “We’re not far from the main activity area,” Buchanan said. I could tell he and Tito had noted Bruno’s arrival, but Armstrong seemed blissfully unaware and I decided it was smarter to keep him that way. “Well, I mean where the main stage is set up. Frankly, the entire Mall is going to be packed.”

  He wasn’t kidding. We’d parked in a building near to the Smithsonian’s Castle, so that was the part of the Mall’s middle section we headed for. As we reached our destination I took a good look around. The Festival wasn’t overstating it about either being International or One World. It was like the biggest street fair ever, multiplied by a factor of at least ten. If you couldn’t spot at least a dozen people from somewhere other than the U.S. in under a minute, it was likely you couldn’t see. And if you couldn’t spot at least two dozen people from the States in that same timeframe, you were blind and probably deaf as well.

  Speaking of deaf, if I’d thought the background noise from the Dome was loud, the noise level here was intense. People were, for the most part, having a really fun time. There were booths aplenty, as well as what looked like roving street performers, in addition to several stages dotted all over. All of them had something going on, and every booth had lines at least four people wide and ten deep.

  The smells from the myriad food stalls dotted all over happily overpowered most of the smell of lots of people in onӀpily e place. I’d had two gate transfers recently, so the scents didn’t make me even remotely hungry, though some of them were giving it a good run in the Smells So Good You Have To Eat It category.

  It was easy to see why Naomi and Abigail hadn’t been able to spot anyone using their eyes—our group got separated merely because we headed toward what Armstrong indicated was the main stage at the same time a swell of people headed the other way, and I had a couple moments of panic before I could spot Buchanan, who was the tallest, or White, who was wearing the Parrot Identifier.

  We regrouped, and I put my purse over my head, after checking to make sure I still had Poofs on Board. I did, several unnamed ones in addition to Harlie and Poofikins. Good. Poof hitchhikers were never an issue.

  “This is insane,” Armstrong said. “I have no idea what we’re going to achieve here.”

  “Do we get you to the politician’s box or whatever it’s called?” I straddled Bruno so he wouldn’t get trampled.

  “I don’t relish the idea of letting the President know I didn’t attend his speech.” Armstrong looked toward the stage and squinted. “He’s not on now. We’ve got a native song and dance going on, and I think it’s from Venezuela, which was the third act for that stage after the President, presuming they didn’t alter the program after I left.”

  I looked around again and concentrated, focusing on the inner me and my Wolverine abilities. I had to grit my teeth, but when I hit the Laser Beams From My Eyes level, I could see a variety of people moving much faster than anyone else around them. They were all dressed in the Armani Fatigues, not that this came as a shock.

  “There are a tonnage of field teams here.”

  “Yes, there are,” White confirmed. “But they all seem quite intent.”

 
And they all looked alike. Oh, sure, they varied in height, body structure, and skin tones—we had pureblooded A-Cs who could pass for every ethnic type on Earth, because Alpha Four had varying skin colors and body types just like we did. But, as I was still shocked to realize, all that beauty tended to look alike after a while, especially if there was a lot of it on display. Clearly Centaurion Division had called in field teams from every Base worldwide, because I saw A-Cs who—if they’d been standing still and in native costume other than the Armani Fatigues—anyone would have sworn were from India, China, Russia, Africa and South America.

  But none of them were standing still. They were, to an agent, looking incredibly busy, intent, and serious. They left hyperspeed to break up fights, return stolen wallets, take lost children to their parents, and generally act like the biggest bunch of Boy Scouts anyone had ever seen. Citizens safe, they went back to hyperspeed, looking for the next problem.

  It was impressive in the extreme, but I got an uneasy feeling in the pit of my stomach. It wouldn’t take much to turn the A-Cs into the world’s police force. And while that had some good benefits associated with it, there were bigger downsides, starting with how fast the “police force” would be turned into the War Division. I gave it one big international incident. Like the one everyone was expecting to happen here.

  One agent set managed to stand out—because it consisted of a guy and a girl. TheӀapp guy was big, the girl was about my size. They were close enough, so I reached out and touched someone and managed to grab them both.

  They stopped moving and stared at me in shock. They looked about Walter’s age, early twenties. “I’m Ambassador Katt-Martini. We may have an emergency situation. Who are you and what are you doing here?”