Alien in Chief (45 page)

CHAPTER 87

“A
RE YOU SURE
this is a good idea?” Brian shouted to me. He had to shout. We were in the middle of a riot and that made it hard to hear.

“Yes! Just do what I told you to!”

My plan was to flush Stephanie out. Going to ground was one thing, but there was no way she was without access to a television. There was too much going on, much of which she'd been intimately involved with, for me to believe that she wasn't somewhere watching the world burn. Whether she wanted it to burn or not might be the question, but until we could find her, we wouldn't know the answer.

What channel she was watching, however, and when, were the things I had no guess for. So, in order to cover all the bases, we were covering all the bases.

Media, social and otherwise, were advising the population of what riots were going on where. Serene picked our location, William sent a floater gate, we stepped through, and the team got TCC up in front of as many cameras as we could. Then it was just lather, rinse, repeat.

Mahin and Abigail had joined us in Orlando at the children's hospital, so we had plenty of muscle, in that sense. The goal wasn't to get TCC a speaking part—just to have him seen, in the background.

Once we felt he was seen, or it was too dangerous to stay,
we used hyperspeed—which Abigail, Mahin, and White still had going—to get out of the crowd and through a floater gate that would take us to our next location.

I didn't have music on—I was on the phone with William, so that he could tell me where we were going and where our floater gate was located.

We were on our eleventh stop and, other than getting banged up a lot, the plan was working smoothly, despite all of us wanting to call in Field agents from around the world to stop the riots.

But we didn't. In part because we didn't want them to get infected. And in other part because that very possibly was what Cliff wanted.

I'd asked Serene for one thing when she was choosing—to ensure, after Orlando's hospital, that we hit towns that spelled Stephanie's name in order. Just in case.

So, we'd hit Savannah, Tacoma, East Pittsburgh, which was a double, Houston, Anaheim, Nashville, Indianapolis, and Escondido. Now we were in Stephenville, Texas, because there were no towns named Stephanie that Serene could find. It wasn't a gigantic crowd, but it was representing in terms of panic and riots.

We were about to go when a reporter focused on TCC. “Sir,” she said in a Texas drawl, “can you tell us what you're hoping to do here?”

“I'm just trying to find my eldest daughter,” TCC said. “She's lost and we're worried about her.”

The reporter was jostled and lost interest in TCC. Mahin grabbed him and the rest of us linked up and we zipped off out of the area.

“That was picked up,” William said. “And Imageering Main is ensuring that it's sent out as fast as possible to all news outlets.”

“Awesome, then send us back to D.C. Walter Reed, if it's got riots.”

“It does,” Serene said. “Everywhere does. Where you
just were doesn't even have vaccines yet, but they have frightened people and Club Fifty-One members and that seems to be enough.”

“It's probably why Clarence got his interview, so I'm not going to complain.” A floater gate shimmered into view. I could tell I was losing my A-C Extras—I could barely see the shimmering.

“Step through now,” William said.

We linked up and stepped out near Walter Reed. Did our usual hyperspeed push and shove to get near reporters. Only this time, the person who was spotted wasn't TCC, but was me.

“It's the First Lady!” someone with a microphone and camera crew shouted, and we were surrounded fast. The questions started coming even faster.

“What are you doing here?” “We heard the White House was under quarantine.” “Is the new President dead already?” “Is this your new boyfriend?” “Did your people cause this epidemic?” “Why aren't you saving everyone?” “Why aren't you doing something?” “Why aren't you saving us?”

TCC was right next to me, so presumably he was the new boyfriend that had been referred to. The rest of our group was bunched up behind us. A quick look over my shoulder shared that we were cut off and essentially trapped. No way to use hyperspeed right now, not after I'd been recognized.

Reporters were still shouting questions and crowding us.

“Kitty, you're on every news station,” William said.

“And I'm not stopping it,” Serene added. “I don't know if you prepared a speech, but now's the best hope you have for getting the nation's attention.”

So, basically, I wasn't all dressed up or ready, and God alone knew what my hair looked like, but I was on the national news and whatever I said was going to be used for or against us for the rest of our lives. Always the way. And also routine. And also sucky.

The phone clicked off, which was sort of panic inducing,
since now I had no link to Serene and William. But music started. “The World is Watching” by Two Door Cinema Club.

So, scratch national news and replace with international news! I definitely wasn't ready for my close-up. However my close-up was ready for me and apparently Algar was at the musical controls. There was probably never going to be a better time.

Cleared my throat. Some of the reporters stopped shrieking at me. Not all, but some, so it was a start.

Decided to go with what TCC had said in Texas. “We're here looking for one of my nieces. His daughter.” Indicated TCC. If Stephanie was watching, maybe this would bring her out. Or cause her to try to kill me. Maybe both.

“Why are you risking everyone to come out of quarantine for one of your family members?” a male reporter snarled.

“Because we haven't heard from her, our family is worried, everyone's at risk, and quarantine isn't going to work.”

“Why not?” another reporter shouted.

Oh well. Now or never. Might as well go out in a blaze of glory. “Because the vaccine that Clifford Goodman is telling all of you is the cure is actually the disease.”

“Because you created it?” a female reporter asked.

“No. Cliff Goodman created it. He's the reason President Armstrong is dead. And he's the reason so many others are dead already or going to be very soon.”

“You're saying there is no cure for this alien flu?” Couldn't keep which reporter was shouting which question. Decided not to care.

“No. I'm saying that the so-called alien flu was created by Cliff Goodman and his cronies in order to take control of this country.”

“As opposed to it being brought by all those alien animals you house, or by those aliens who came to take over our country yesterday?” This was from a reporter I vaguely
recognized. Knew he was anti-alien, so this question coming from him wasn't a shock.

“Correct. I'm saying that this so-called alien flu was created by a human being, Clifford Goodman, the current head of FEMA. Intentionally. To kill as many of us as possible. And by ‘us' I mean humans, A-Cs, and visiting aliens.”

The music changed to “My Only Enemy” by American Hi-Fi. So, what happened next didn't come as a complete surprise.

“That's one hell of an accusation,” Cliff said. He walked over, surrounded by reporters, but they moved a bit, so that it was like he and I were in the outline of a figure eight. “But, since you have absolutely no proof, it's just yet another example of how you and the rest of those aligned with the A-Cs have deceived us for all these years.”

“You're the deceiver.” Just managed not to say Decepticon. Score one for diplomatic experience. “You pretended to care about this country and its people, but all you care about is lining your own pockets and power. You're in with the Cuban Mob and you've been behind half a dozen murderous conspiracies in the last five years alone.”

The Cuban Mob was a guess, based on Bizarro World, but it struck home. For whatever reason, Cliff hadn't been prepared for me to say it, and he jerked. And looked up over his shoulder.

Followed his gaze. Was pretty sure I saw figures on the roof of the hospital. Meaning where Sanchez and Lopez had gone was to support Cliff's takeover bid. Figured I didn't have long to live.

On the plus side, the reporters were silent and, because they'd shut up and there was clearly something going on with bright lights shining, the mob began to form around us. But it was far less unruly, presumably because the people in the mob wanted to hear what was being said.

Cliff recovered. He shook his head sadly. “It makes me sad to see how you're trying to blame me for what you and
your people have done. All to put your husband in the White House.” This earned some nasty sounds from the crowd.

“My husband is probably the only politician on this planet who doesn't want to be a politician at all. But he's accepted what he has to do in order to serve the country that took his people in, and he does it. But kill people to get there? No. Kill innocent people to get more power? No. That's not Jeff's thing. But it's sure yours, Cliff.”

“See, Kitty, the problem with accusations you can't back up is that you just sound like a sad little girl, grasping at a conspiracy theory to hide behind.”

“Oh,” a voice boomed out, “she has proof. And lots of it.”

CHAPTER 88

M
ISTER JOEL OLIVER
was on the scene, and he wasn't alone. Colonel Hamlin was with him. Didn't see Buchanan anywhere, though. However, “Caught, Can We Get A Witness?” by Public Enemy was now on my airwaves.

“I've just done an exclusive interview with Colonel Marvin Hamlin,” Oliver said, voice still booming. He had a full camera crew with them, too, and extra lighting. “It's streaming live right now. And in that interview, Colonel Hamlin, Clifford Goodman's former direct superior, explains just why he had to fake his own death and go into hiding, to avoid being murdered by this man.” Oliver pointed at Cliff.

Cliff honestly looked shocked out of his mind to see Hamlin standing there. “Did you clone him?” he blurted out.

“No,” I said quickly. “Because the only people doing cloning of actual human beings are you and your cronies.”

“They've done more than that!” Gideon Cleary shoved through, with Cameron Maurer and Bruce Jenkins.

Why Jenkins was here was easy—he was a reporter, this was the news event of possibly the decade, and he knew both Cleary and Maurer. How he'd convinced Walter to let him out of the Embassy was the big question, followed by the question of how he'd gotten Cleary out of the White House, though I suspected Jeff had probably had something to do with both of those.

Maurer being here, on the other hand, was a surprise, albeit a pleasant one.

Maurer had been turned into an unwilling android during Operation Defection Election. We'd saved him, but I honestly hadn't realized that Cleary was in any form of contact with Maurer, since Cleary had known Maurer was an android well before we'd discovered it. And now we were friends with Cleary and it appeared that he and Maurer had buried the hatchet. Politics, it was an amazing thing. As Armstrong had loved to tell me, it made for strange bedfellows. Shoved down the pang thinking about Armstrong gave me—I needed to focus all my attention on the current situation.

“They turned Cameron into an android,” Cleary said. “Cliff and his people did that, not the A-Cs or their friends.”

Maurer was in a t-shirt. He took it off and opened his chest. To show the interior workings of an android. There were a lot of screams from the crowd. Couldn't blame them. The first time I'd seen it I'd been pretty horrified, too.

Maurer closed his chest up and put his shirt back on. “Cliff Goodman did this to me,” he said calmly. “So that he'd have an army of androids to do his bidding.”

“You can't prove it!” Goodman shouted. Realized I'd never seen him lose his cool before. “This is all innuendo and lies from a bunch of lunatics who are trying to use me to further their political careers.”

“We have proof,” Claudia shouted, as she and Lorraine helped Langston Whitmore into the spotlight. It was getting hella crowded on this very public stage. Was amazed the girls were getting through, then realized Field agents were moving people at hyperspeed. I couldn't see it anymore, but as the crowd parted, I could tell that they had to be there.

Whitmore looked horrible. “I'm dying,” he said. “From the alien flu.”

Cliff looked relieved. “See? The Secretary of Transportation knows who's responsible.”

“I do,” Whitmore said. “And it's you, Cliff. You promised I wouldn't get sick, and you lied. Then you told me you'd give me the cure, and you lied again. You told me you'd be President and I'd be your right-hand man, but that was a lie, too. But unlike the others you've killed or had murdered, I'm not going to take your secrets to my grave. I've already sent copies of all the documentation I've been keeping on you for years to every major news outlet in the world. As well as to the F.B.I. and C.I.A.”

Cliff looked wild-eyed. It was nice, and I hoped Chuckie was watching, but this all wasn't enough.

“It doesn't matter,” I said.

Everyone, including Cliff, turned to me. Even Cliff looked shocked.

“It doesn't matter because the supervirus that Cliff created does indeed have an alien element to it. Unfortunately, it's not an alien element from our Earth A-Cs, nor from any other species in the Alpha Centauri system. The element is from a planet very far away from us.”

“Does that mean you think we're all going to die?” one of the reporters asked me.

“No,” a man's deep voice said as “Magic Man” by Heart hit my airwaves. “Not on my watch.”

“Oh, my God,” one of the people in the crowd squealed. “It's the new President!”