Alien in Chief (46 page)

CHAPTER 89

S
URE ENOUGH, JEFF,
flanked by Christopher, Chuckie, Gower, Reader, Tim, and Raj, strode into what had become the public square, crowd control being provided again, I was sure, by Field agents I couldn't see. Yeah, we were amassed in the hospital's Emergency entrance area with overflow out onto Palmer Road, but right now, it was doing public square duty.

They were walking with purpose, but proving that I wasn't at death's door yet, I saw them moving in slow motion, like the heroes always did in every Michael Bay film. If they'd been shirtless, I'd have compared to
Magic Mike
, but since they had the nerve to be showing decorum during a national disaster, I'd have to make do. Always the way.

Had no idea where the Secret Service was, but they weren't here as far as I could see. Didn't matter. Unless Wruck's blood held the secret to the cure, we were all dead anyway.

The guys all looked sick, because they were, but Jeff still radiated leadership and confidence. How anyone could look at him and not see The Leader of the Free World was beyond me, but then, I was slightly biased.

“I can feel the emotions of everyone here,” Jeff said to the crowd. “I know you're frightened, angry, worried, and
wondering just what the hell's happened to your country. But I promise you that it's going to be alright.”

“You really do feel their pain,” Cliff said sarcastically.

“I do. Clifford Goodman,” Jeff said, voice projecting, “I'm arresting you for treason for the murder of President Vincent Armstrong, and so many others.”

“See what lengths they'll go to?” Cliff wasn't shouting to the reporters anymore, but to the crowd around us. “These aliens want to control us, to take our resources, our lives, and,” he pointed to me, “our women!”

Couldn't help it, the Inner Hyena released in a big way. I was laughing so hard I couldn't speak for a few seconds. I was laughing so loudly that no one else tried to talk over me. Oliver having a portable microphone that he was holding near me probably helped with this.

“Oh, my God, dude, your blah, blah, blah is amazing,” I said as I caught my breath. “You're making this sound like
Mars Needs Women Two: The Martians Take Manhattan
.” This earned some laughs from a few of the reporters—all the female ones—and some of the crowd, as well. “They didn't come here to steal our fine bitches. Though, I think that all the gals in the audience will take one good look at the A-Cs and agree with me that if that packaging thinks I'm a total hottie, sign me up for interspecies marriage.”

There were some female whoops from the crowd. Good. We might all be close to dying for real, but not so close that looking at some of the hottest dudes around wasn't giving many the will to go on.

Ensured my sarcasm knob was turned well past eleven as I pointed to Lorraine and Claudia, Abigail and Mahin. “And I'm sure that all the guys out there would, you know, actually rather die than get to mate with and potentially marry women who look like them.” Now there were some male wolf whistles.

“But right now, the only chance we all have to marry
anyone and have lives and all that awesome jazz depends on one human doctor, a lot of A-C scientists, and two aliens who look like giant penguins.”

Knew without asking that Wruck wouldn't want me to mention him, particularly to the entire world. We'd been there, not that long ago, so I knew why he felt he had to hide. Maybe someday, if any of us got a someday, he'd be able to come out of this particular closet and share who he really was. And maybe on that day, we'd be, as a world, ready to accept and understand it. But that day wasn't tonight.

Raj nodded and stepped forward. One of the reporters shoved a mic near him, and rather nicely set it to broadcast to the crowd. “The First Lady is correct.” Raj had his Troubadour Tones set to Somberly Soothe and Reassure. “We have scientists working to find a cure. If we'll find it in time . . .” Raj spread his hands. “We don't know if we'll find the cure in time for all of us here to survive. But we do know that many people have bravely fought to protect you, and not just our people.”

My music changed to “Flip the Switch” by the Rolling Stones. Hoped Algar wasn't telling me to do something, because I had no clue as to what I should be doing. Prepped myself for anything.

Raj looked around. I followed where his glance paused. On people in the crowd with anti-alien signs. “The Office of the President would like to thank the brave members of Club Fifty-One, who have been risking their lives all over the country to try to prevent any uninfected civilians from receiving the supposed vaccines that are, in fact, the killer virus created by Clifford Goodman.”

There was audible gasping from the reporters and the crowd. My bet was that the loudest gasps were from the Club 51 people themselves. The only reason I hadn't reacted was Algar's musical clue. Cliff looked furious. Good.

Raj went on without missing a beat. “The President will
preside over a ceremony thanking you for your service once we're able to coordinate it, after the loss of life due to this homegrown terrorist's biological attack is assessed.”

Cliff was now in the middle of a set of circles. We were around him, the reporters were around us, and the crowd was around the reporters. There was a lot less shoving and such, undoubtedly due to the Troubadour Influence.

Jenkins had his phone to his ear, and went over to a reporter I recognized as being one of the biggies on one of the major networks. The reporter nodded and then their feed was on Jenkins.

“I'm Bruce Jenkins, and I've got Tom Curran, the Director of the Federal Bureau of Investigation, on the phone. For those of you watching at home, you'll see him on split screen. For those here, Director Curran has requested, due to the amount of substantial and substantiated evidence his office has received over the past week, that Clifford Goodman be arrested immediately under the charges of treason, terrorism, and premeditated murder.”

“Confirmed,” the reporter nearest to me said. The other reporters were getting the same information from their news desks as well.

Heard the sound of a large motorcycle I was sure was a Harley at the same time as Foreigner's “Woman in Black” came on my airwaves. Knew who was coming. Just wasn't sure if she was coming to praise Cliff or to bury him.

The crowd parted for Huntress to come in, because most of us were trained to let people in leather riding Harleys do what they wanted as opposed to getting our butts kicked by said Harley riders. She parked the bike and dismounted. Had to hand it to her—she looked pretty badass.

She was dressed as I'd seen her before, all in black leather, with the mask on and her crossbow on her back. Cliff stared at her and, for the first time tonight, he looked afraid. And, as when Huntress had almost killed him and me both, I was sure he wasn't faking.

“Stephanie?” TCC asked.

Almost told him to be quiet but she spun toward him. “Who do you think I am?” She sounded angry. And a lot like I remembered Stephanie sounding. Made eye contact with Jeff. He nodded. So, it was her.

“My eldest daughter,” TCC said.

“How would you know?” She sounded angry. Yep, definitely Stephanie.

He shrugged. “A father always knows his daughter, even when she's disguised.”

She stared at him for a few long second, then turned back to Cliff. “All these others aren't the only ones who have dirt on you.”

He'd recovered from his fear, or at least was back to hiding it. He smirked. “What could
you
possibly have on me?”

She stalked up to him and got right in his face. “You know that saying they have about a woman scorned? You should have never let me find out that you were sleeping with LaRue and Annette. You should have never told each of them that you loved them. You should never have picked anyone over me. But you did. Or you picked none of us and just lied to us all. I don't care. I have the data on everything you have and everywhere you have it. And I have copies stashed all over. Who do you think sent that information to the F.B.I. a week ago?”

“Oh, well done, and now you've come to kill me?” Cliff asked snidely.

She shook her head. “No. And I didn't come to rescue you, either.” She turned to TCC. “I came because my father was looking for me.”

Stephanie took a step toward us and, as she did, Cliff looked up on the roof and did the throat-slash hand signal that, in this case, clearly meant Kill Them Now.

Most of us saw it, because he wasn't even trying to hide that he'd done it. So results were, as was so often the case, immediate.

TCC leaped to tackle Stephanie and shield her with his body. Reader and Chuckie grabbed Jeff and pulled him down and did the same thing, while Tim and Christopher had Gower down and were covering him.

Those who had witnesses with them did the same thing—got those witnesses down and shielded them with their own bodies.

White was the one who got me down, which was ironic because I was thinking I needed to cover him. Which Brian did, which was nice in that sense. However, ducked and covered or not, I still had a view of the roof and the area around us.

Heard a lot of screaming, because when someone makes the “kill them” signal and prominent people are being shielded by the people around them, the natural tendency is to scream. But what I didn't hear were gunshots and what I didn't see were people dropping or bullets hitting.

American Hi-Fi's “The Everlasting Fall” came on. That didn't sound like a hint to duck and cover. “We need to stand up, guys. Now.”

“If you insist, Missus Martini.”

“I do.”

“Kitty, you're making yourself a target,” Brian said, but he stood up and helped White up, who in turned helped me stand. White held onto my hand and Brian's, clearly ready to use hyperspeed to get us out of range.

“No worries, Bri, you can complain to Jeff, Chuckie, James, and all the others. Later. Right now, I think something's going wrong with our Mastermind's Masterplan.”

Cliff made the signal again and looked rather annoyed and beyond impatient. But his expression changed as something came hurtling down from the roof. Two somethings.

The bodies of Luis Sanchez and Julio Lopez landed at Cliff's feet. The very dead bodies. Nice to know exactly where Buchanan, and possibly Siler, had gone.

“Those are two highly wanted Cuban assassins who work for the Cuban Mob,” I said, doing my best to project
my voice, as I let go of White's hand and moved closer to Cliff. But not too close. “As I said earlier, you have deep ties to the Cuban Mob, meaning you were also planning to assassinate the current President of the United States, seeing as he hadn't dropped dead from your supervirus like President Armstrong did.”

Cliff gaped at me.

Chuckie stood up. “Oh, and one other thing,
buddy
.”

Cliff turned to him and for the first time the hatred showed on his face. It warped him from a normal, nice-looking guy into what I assumed his soul was—pure ugliness. “What's that?” Cliff snarled.

Chuckie smiled very slowly. “Checkmate. You lose. Again.”

CHAPTER 90

C
LIFF REACHED INTO
his pocket as my music changed to “Pennies on the Floor” by The Little Willies. Had no freaking idea what Algar meant by this, but fortunately my memory nudged. I'd picked up a penny off of the floor of the Armstrong's closet.

Dug into my pocket. It was still there. Pulled it out as Cliff pulled out what he was scrambling for as well.

He was holding a cube that glittered as if it was a white and golden Rubik's cube. In other words, Cliff had the last Z'porrah power cube. How he'd had something that bulky in his pocket without it showing was beyond me, but I knew what the power cubes looked like, and he was definitely holding one. Meaning he was going to use it to get away.

Had no idea what a penny was going to do in this situation, and less than no idea of what to do with said penny, but my motto was, when in doubt, go with your gut and the crazy. Threw the penny at Cliff.

As it sailed through the air, the penny changed shape and became a cage made of thin copper wire. It opened like a mouth and snapped over the cube. Cliff just managed to get his fingers out.

The copper cage with its sparkly prize fell to the ground. No one needed to tell me that we wanted that picked up. Cliff and I both lunged for it. But it was gone.

Christopher was back by Jeff and the others, only he had the cage in his hand. He grinned at me and I laughed.

But I was now close to Cliff and he took the opportunity to do the only thing he hadn't tried yet—grabbing a hostage. Namely, me.

If I hadn't been infected I'd have been able to get away from him. But infected I was, and the “high” of my latest adrenaline rush was starting to crash. Meaning I had very little in the tank.

Cliff produced a gun and put it at my temple. “I will happily kill her,” he said to Chuckie, not Jeff. “So you're going to let me go, or I'll blow her brains out in front of you.”

People around us all raised their hands, but Reader, Tim, Christopher, and Raj literally dragged Jeff, Gower, and Chuckie back.

Knew without asking that Buchanan and Siler, if he was up there, wouldn't have a safe enough shot to take it. Meaning I was on my own right now, because, as First Lady, no one was going to risk shooting near me.

The crowd was parting again, as Cliff headed us for Stephanie's motorcycle. “We're going to take a ride now.”

Couldn't speak for anyone else in the crowd but I wasn't scared. I was pissed. Didn't have the She-Hulk Rage thing going for me, but Wolverine could work up a good Berserker Rage when he needed to, and I focused on that. Well, that and my other motto—keep 'em monologuing.

“Wow, Cliff, you're really going for the whole Cackling Mastermind Is Revealed On International Television thing, aren't you?”

“Well, when someone takes your anonymity away, you have to improvise. Take off the earphones and dump your phone.”

“Yeah, you're the master of that, aren't you? Mister Mastermind.” Did as he told me, though I managed to put my earbuds into my purse. My phone I tossed toward Jeff. Well, I tossed the phone that I'd been listening to music on
over. The other phone, the one that the Secret Service, and therefore Cliff, didn't know about? That one was still in my purse.

“How long have you known?” he asked as we got awkwardly onto the Harley. It's really hard to get two people on a Harley at the same time, especially when one is wrapped around the other and a gun to the head is involved. But we managed. No one laughed, though I had to figure some people watching probably wanted to. We had to look ridiculous.

“For a lot longer than you've known that we knew. You're lucky I know how to ride one of these.”

“You're not going to stay lucky.”

“Oh, see now, Cliff, if you just plan to kill me anyway, I'm going to give the kill order and go out in a heroic blaze of glory. Don't be stupid. You know you're going to let me live.”

“Why would I do that?”

“Because you like the game.”

He chuckled as I started the bike and he wrapped one arm tightly around my waist, keeping the gun at my head. “That's true. It's been a good game.”

Had to pay attention to get the bike turned around and out of the crowd. Did my best to send Jeff an emotional signal that told him not to worry and not to come after me himself. Had no idea if I was doing that well or not.

“So, how did you infect everyone?”

“Gaseous release mostly. And the ‘vaccine,' as you guessed.”

“Yeah, that seems obvious. But you were pawing all of us a lot.”

He laughed. “You caught that? I'm impressed. Yes, I have a stronger form of the virus in my pocket. Skin-to-skin contact ensures complete infection for those who weren't dying quickly enough. And it's helpful to spread the disease to those who weren't exposed to the gas or those who were in the contagious stage.”

“Wasn't that a risk for you? I mean touching the disease over and over again.”

“No. The cure is very final. Either you die or you get the vaccine and the vaccine is, if I do say so myself, a brilliant bit of medical engineering. Once vaccinated you can never get the Alien Flu again.”

Well, anything that could be engineered could be reverse engineered, so I didn't lose hope. Actively chose not to mention that the brilliance of this disease and, most likely, its cure had far less to do with Cliff and far more to do with Lizzie's dead father. Also actively didn't point out that there was no such thing as a vaccine that worked a hundred percent of the time and forever. The best vaccines came close, but nothing was a foolproof cure. However, I wasn't in any position to get cocky, so I kept all of this to myself.

Headed off slowly, mostly because I didn't want him to get any ideas and shoot into the crowd. No musical clues from Algar now. Just me and the Mastermind, riding off into the sunset. Well, sunrise, really. Refused to consider how long it had been since I'd slept, in part because a gun to your head makes you very wide awake. Couldn't hear Poison's “Ride the Wind” for real, but I was listening to it in my mind. On repeat. ‘Cause that was how I rolled.

“Take the Three-Fifty-Five to the Beltway, then get on the Ninety-Five,” he said. “And speed it up.”

“You got it. Can I put sunglasses on, or do you want me blinded so we get to be organ donors?”

“Fine, get your sunglasses out. Try anything, though, and I'll pull the trigger.”

“Blah, blah, blah. It's going to take me longer than normal since I have to use my left hand.” Or I'd have to let go of the throttle and that wasn't in anyone's best interests, especially mine.

Moved my purse onto the tank in front of me. Pretended I was having trouble and dug through for my Glock as well
as my sunglasses. Felt the used hypodermics Tim had dumped in there and carefully moved them to the top of my purse, just in case.

Because of how he was holding me, Cliff couldn't really look down into my purse, because it would mean he'd have to lean over and move the gun from my head. Nestled the Glock next to the needles, then put my sunglasses on.

“Done, and thanks. We'll be a lot safer this way.”

“Oh, good. I'm so glad we're being road safe and law abiding.”

Chose not to reply. Revved the bike and headed us out as directed.

Couldn't really talk now, and couldn't go as fast as I wanted until we were on the 355. But once we were, I focused on speed, though I was going to have to wait for the Beltway to make my move.

Sure, Christopher could catch us, but the problem was that Cliff
wanted
to kill me, so if any of the others gave him the slightest provocation, he'd pull the trigger. No, I needed to get him away from everyone, let him think he was safe, and then make my move.

Zipped up the 355 and got onto the Beltway in short order. Presumed he'd want to go south on the 95, because I knew without asking that he wanted to get to Cuba. So I went east on the Beltway.

“You're going the wrong way,” he shouted.

“You said you wanted the Ninety-Five!”

“I do, going south, you idiot.” Always nice to be right.

“Sharing directions is helpful, you know. It's the Beltway, we'll go in a circle.” And then I really cranked the throttle.

We were moving fast in short order. If my days weren't completely jumbled up, it was a workday. There were certainly enough cars on the road at this time of day to indicate that, killer epidemic or not, most people were headed in to their jobs.

I weaved us in and out of cars as I went faster and faster.
We went past the exit for Andrews Air Force Base. Wasn't ready to go for it.

“Slow down!” Cliff shouted.

I went faster. We flew past the 95 interchange. “Whoops! We'll have to catch it next go 'round.”

“Slow down or I'll shoot you,” he snarled in my ear.

“Go ahead. At this speed, if you shoot me, this bike goes down and you'll die for sure. We're not in gear, so it's not going to be pretty for either one of us. But me, I think I've got a good shot. I'm an athlete, I'm the one driving, and I'll have all the medical attention from the top doctors in the world. You, on the other hand, are not an athlete, are not the one driving, and are going to get dead before you ever reach a hospital.” And then we could get his blood, too. Crashing was definitely one of my Win-Win Options. Oh sure, not Option #1 but definitely up there in the Options List.

My hair was flying around, but mostly in his face. Hoped it was hurting and blinding him both. Was pretty sure I had the Harley at top speed, but wasn't willing to take my eyes off the road to find out. Though the road was a lot less crowded.

Risked a look in the rearview mirror. Not a lot of cars behind us, either. Assumed that law enforcement was getting people off this road so that I could pretend I was starring in
Speed
with a bit more safety.

We went on, him snarling at me to slow down and me ignoring him completely. “Oh, by the way? Annette Dier's dead, so if you're expecting to meet up with her or that she's going to save your bacon, you're in for some real disappointment.”

“Whatever. She was going to be dead soon anyway.”

“Yeah, you didn't give her the real vaccine, did you?”

He laughed again. “No, I didn't.”

Saw a helicopter. Several. They were hovering over parts of the Beltway. Probably news helicopters watching the
First Lady ride a Harley with the Domestic Terrorist Supreme. Hoped Dad still had the TVs turned off at the Embassy.

“Annette loved you, though.”

“So did Stephanie. And so what? Chuck loves you—but that didn't change anything for you, did it?”

Had to make a move before the Harley ran out of gas. Had no idea how much gas was in the bike before we'd gotten on it, but even with a full tank, I couldn't go like this forever. And the likelihood that I was working with a full tank was slim.

“Not in this world, no.”

“Right. Because it takes the right person.”

“True enough. And at the right time.”

“Exactly. You know, Kitty, you and I could make a really good team.”

Managed not to let the Inner Hyena out again. Also managed not to say the first several replies that came to mind. “Oh yeah?” was the only safe reply I could give, so I gave it.

“Yeah. Come down to Cuba with me. You know you deserve a man who can keep up with you intellectually.”

“Wow, I'm used to my enemies telling me I'm an idiot.”

“Just because other men haven't respected you doesn't mean I'm like that.”

Cliff had apparently had some real good luck with lines like this. Possibly they worked on LaRue. Certainly they'd worked on Stephanie, and probably Dier, too. That he thought he had more to offer than my husband and presumed other options was amazingly conceited. But then again, that was his fatal flaw—he was awfully pleased with himself.

“So, what could you offer me that my current husband can't?” One of the helicopters was flying toward us and getting lower at the same time. It looked much beefier than the other choppers that were higher up and clearly news
choppers. Military. And black. Could be coming for me, could be coming for Cliff, could just be trying to get a really good shot for the morning news shows. Had no bet either way.

“Wealth, power, all the things women like.”

“I'll bet you want me to bring my kids, too, don't you?”

“Well, of course. I'd never want to separate you from your children, Kitty. What kind of man would I be to do that?”

Managed to refrain from comment, but it took real effort.

There was another helicopter, also flying low, also military grade, but this one was grayish. Was pretty sure it was coming from Andrews. But it was well behind the closer one. Which had a rope ladder hanging down.

Tried to figure out how long it would take to fly a helicopter from Orlando to D.C. Had no clue, but it was doubtful that the remaining Crazy Eights were in that chopper.