Alien in the House (38 page)

O
F COURSE,
this didn't mean I wasn't surprised. And I wasn't the only one.

We were close enough to the car that the blast threw all of us back. Sure, I'd had help from Harold, but the men flew backward, too.

We were lucky—because of the angle of the blast in terms of where we were, we were thrown onto grass instead of concrete. This was good in that we were unlikely to be hurt because of the fall. However, it meant we were all covered with mud. The less said about the state of my nice white dress the better.

There were scattered screams and a lot of yelling from the paparazzi. Jeff rolled to and then on top of me. “Kitty, are you okay?”

“Yeah. Harold knocked me back. Are you alright?”

“Yeah, I felt something hit me right before the blast. I'm assuming it was a Peregrine, since it didn't hurt me. We need to get out of here, baby.”

“Well, that bomb was intended for Cliff, not us. I think we need to get Cliff out of here.”

Chuckie was helping Cliff up. Cliff seemed to be in shock. “I just got that car . . . that's my dream car . . . it does everything and it's good for the environment . . .”

As Jeff helped me up I realized the blast had knocked a lot of the press on their butts, too. “Wow, that was one hell of an explosion. Chuckie, let's get Cliff to the Embassy.”

Chuckie nodded and put his arm around Cliff's shoulders. “Come on, buddy. Let's get you out of the rain.”

“I have stuff in the car,” Cliff said, rather piteously. “I need my stuff.”

Looked at the wreckage. “Unless it's fire, fireproof, or improved by being blown up, you don't need it. Let's move, guys.”

But we'd been too slow. The press were back on their feet and we were surrounded, fast, with a lot of people shouting questions at us.

In the good old days, we would have just used hyperspeed to get out of this. But we couldn't, because the press wasn't surrounding four random people—they were surrounding four public figures.

They were also shoving in closer and closer. Claustrophobia was going to become an issue, and if anyone shoved me, I had a feeling Jeff's first official act as a representative was going to be to punch someone in the face.

“That's enough!” a man bellowed. The bellower wasn't Jeff; it was Oliver. He didn't bellow as well as Jeff did—no one could match Jeff's bellowing abilities—but he sounded furious and very much in charge. Remembered that Oliver had covered war zones. “You will stop acting like a pack of wild dogs!”

Looked back at the car. Explosions were one of the Dingo's calling cards. Clearly he wasn't aware that we liked Cliff, or else he had a contract that said he didn't care.

The paparazzi started to quiet, but there was still grumbling. “What's wrong with all of you?” Oliver snarled. His voice was projecting, however. “These people need help. At least let them get the hell out of the rain before you barrage them with questions for which we all
know
they have no answers.”

“We just want to know who the target was,” a woman shouted from the back. Couldn't see her face, but I was pretty sure she was blonde.

“Do you?” Oliver asked. “Perhaps you're all too stupid to put two and two together. I, however, am not stupid, and neither are these people. And we'd all like to get out of the rain.”

With that, Oliver reached his hand to me. I took it and grabbed Jeff with my other hand. Jeff grabbed Chuckie, who already had a hold of Cliff. Oliver shoved through the throng and we followed, staying connected.

“The moment the five of us are out of sight, it would be a brilliant choice on the part of Representative Martini to take us to the fastest hyperspeed possible. I'm sure Mister Goodman will vomit the moment we stop, but I believe he's going to do that anyway.”

Risked a look behind me. Yeah, Cliff looked kind of green. “MJO, as always, you're the man with the plan. Jeff, did you catch that?”

“Yep. It's going to be hard, because there are a lot of people heading toward us and it's a long way to anything that will provide a legitimate excuse for how we disappeared.”

“Jeff's right.” Contemplated our options. “We're basically across the street from Rayburn House.”

“I like that plan,” Jeff said, as he turned to his left and pulled the rest of us along. “I want you all at a run,” he said with authority.

Contemplated the options again. I liked these heels. Then again, the Elves seemed to have unlimited access to Armani, Aerosole, and, for all I knew, Converse and Levis. Therefore, I could play Cinderella. Kicked my heels off.

Most sprinters like to run in shoes, but there were a few who preferred to run barefoot. I didn't normally fall into the latter camp, but under the circumstances, I had less chance of slipping or falling behind. And I didn't want to fall behind, because the moment the press had realized we were running, they gave chase.

“Is this really a good idea?” Chuckie shouted as we all ran along. He was keeping Cliff moving, and the shock of the explosion seemed to be wearing off, potentially because Cliff was a really smart guy and it didn't take genius to figure out that someone wanted him dead and that someone could still be around.

“We're running because we're afraid one of the press is the mad bomber,” I shouted back. “Trust me, I can spin this.”

“You can spin anything,” Chuckie agreed. “I just don't know if we can outrun them believably.”

“Sure we can,” Jeff said, as he headed us directly into the street. Independence Avenue wasn't exactly a side street, and there were plenty of cars. However, there were also sirens. And the screeching of tires as drivers slammed on their brakes to avoid hitting us.

I could feel Jeff using just a little bit of hyperspeed. Not enough to make us go so fast that a human would notice that we were blurry or suddenly disappeared, but enough to maneuver us safely across the street while ensuring no car had to brake so hard and fast that it would be in a wreck.

Safely across, we ran like hell for the doors. Made it inside and into the lobby area. Irene wasn't around. A small favor, because I didn't really want to explain this to anyone. “Let's get to Jeff's office.”

Now we went to hyperspeed, the really fast kind. We were inside Jeff's office, with the door locked, in about five seconds.

Took stock while Cliff retched into the toilet. “Wow, we look like refugees. Why is that always somehow our go-to look?”

“No idea,” Jeff said as he put his hat onto the filing cabinet and pulled out his phone. “But I'm sick of it. James. Yeah. No, that was really us. Yeah, on TV again so soon, we're just that kind of lucky. No, everyone's okay, but only because Cliff has, well, had some remote starter he was showing off. Yeah. Yeah. You're kidding, really? Fine.” He sighed and handed the phone to me. “Coordinate the story with James, will you?”

Took the phone. “This wasn't my fault.”

“It's never your fault, girlfriend. Our phones are going to light up like a Christmas tree. What's the official spin?”

“The vehicle belonging to the Head of Special Immigration Services for Homeland Security was blown up right before he, the head of the C.I.A.'s E-T Division, Representative Martini, and Ambassador Katt-Martini could enter it.”

“Wow, you're living it up with the titles.”

“They matter. The press seemed very antagonistic, we were worried that the bomber was still around or might be disguised as press and egging them on to violence, we saw an opening, and we ran to the safety of Rayburn House. That's the story, and we all need to stick to it.”

“It sounds true.”

“It is true, which is helpful. So, can you send a car for us?”

“No, that's what I was telling Jeff. The streets are officially closed off due to the car bomb. You're not leaving Rayburn House in a vehicle, at least not any time soon. And if you leave it using hyperspeed, then the press surrounding the building are going to wonder how you disappeared. Aliens are one thing. Aliens who can perform at comic book superhero levels are another. I'd love to keep a few of our secrets actually still secret from the general public.”

Heaved a sigh. “Fine. I have other options. Besides, we need to give our statements to the police anyway.”

“Keep your eyes open for that suspicious SWAT member, girlfriend. Cliff may have been targeted for something unrelated to us, but I doubt it.”

“Same here, since his job is us. Did everyone else get home safely?”

“Yes, we all used a floater gate to the Embassy, then sent those who don't live here home by limo. Len and Kyle got back just as the news lit up with your latest exploits.”

“I say again—”

“I know. It wasn't your fault. Keep me posted, going to try to handle things. Oh, and I'm going to assume Jamie's spending the night again.”

“I miss my daughter.”

“We have Field agents keeping the press away from the Pontifex's residence. I doubt the Embassy is going to be that lucky.”

“You and Paul just want to hog her.”

“Dang. I was too obvious.”

“Yes, you were. We'll discuss it when we see what time we get home.”

“I'll ensure she's in bed before then.”

“So it's a race. Got it. Get someone to install a gate in the bathroom of Jeff's office here, will you?”

“Oh, yes, ma'am, I'll get right on that. But for now, you stay put and we'll figure out a very normal way to get you all home.”

“You take the fun out of everything these days, did you know that?”

“Yeah. There's a whole manual about how to do it, too. I'll read it to you sometime.”

We hung up and I contemplated who to call. Officer Melville seemed like a logical choice, and yet there was going to be a lot of police bureaucracy to get through. Decided we had a lot of important people in the room, and dialed a different number. She answered on the first ring.

“Kitten, are you and Jeff okay?”

“Yeah, Mom, we are. Look, someone blew up Cliff's car right before he could give us and Chuckie a ride. And it just dawned on me that you and Dad weren't at Jeff's swearing-in ceremony and I'm sure that's because I didn't tell you about it or ask you to be there, and I'm sorry.”

Mom sighed. “We were there, kitten. So was the President. So were Alfred and Lucinda, who are back home now. We weren't visible from the Floor, but we were all there. Nice fix on the whole religious text issue, by the way. But that's not why you called. You called because, if my television is correct, Cliff's car blew up, you were all surrounded by paparazzi, and for some reason, the four of you, assisted by your personal reporter, decided to make a run for it.”

“We're in Jeff's office at Rayburn House and the press isn't. I'm calling that a win. However, James says he can't get cars to us, and using a floater gate doesn't seem like a good idea. I had to lose my shoes, we're all wet and muddy, Cliff's out his brand-new car, and we're all exhausted. I want to go home. I don't care which home that might be, by the way, but I want to go to a place I have, at least at one time in my life, called home.”

“Despite your strong hint, Tim and Alicia don't need you barging into our house.”

“That wasn't what I was going for, though it'd be an acceptable option. James said the police have the streets blocked off, and the press are at the gates, so to speak. I'd really like someone, anyone, my mother for preference, to come get us out of this.”

“I'm sure you would, kitten.”

There was something in Mom's tone that made me think for a moment. She'd been with the President at the Capitol building, watching Jeff get sworn in. That event hadn't been all that long ago. Meaning she was with the President right now. Meaning that she couldn't do much to help her daughter out of a jam. However, these days, I was more than her daughter. And Mom had mentioned the religious fix for a reason, at least, that was my guess.

However, she was going to need proof that she wasn't pulling strings merely to get her daughter's fat out of the fire one more time. Not a problem, I was good with public speaking.

“Mom, you may want to put me on speaker. I'm putting you on speaker over here.”

“Do I really?”

“You do. You really do.”

“Okay, I hope you're right.” There was a short pause, then Mom's voice came back with a really impressive echo behind it. “You're live with me, the President, and the Joint Chiefs of Staff.”

Oh. Good. As Reyes would have said, dinner
and
a show.

T
HREE OF THE FOUR
men in the room looked at me with various degrees of horror in their expressions. But since we were on speaker, none of them could speak, or at least they all had the good sense to remain silent.

Oliver turned on his pocket tape recorder with the look of a man who has been shown what Santa has for him in the sack of goodies and is reveling in the proof that, this year, he was a very,
very
good boy indeed.

Cleared my throat. Time for the official spin. “Mister President, I apologize for interrupting your meeting. However, I'd appreciate some assistance from the P.T.C.U.”

“Why is that?” The President had a smooth baritone. Now probably wasn't the time to offer a compliment, though.

“Because I feel that we have, yet again, been the focus of a terrorist attack.”

There was a lot of noise in the background. Heard my mother point-blank tell everyone to shut the hell up. Which they all did. My opinion of my mother's pull, which was pretty damned high already, ratcheted up. Either that or she was about to be fired. Went with the rosier outlook.

“Why is that, Ambassador?” Mom asked in her All-Business voice.

“Because the vehicle belonging to Clifford Goodman, the Head of Special Immigration Services for Homeland Security, was blown up right before he, the Head of the C.I.A.'s E-T Division, newly sworn in Representative Martini, and I could enter it. Fortunately for all of us, Mister Goodman chose to show us his brand-new car's remote start function, which is the only reason the four of us are alive at this time.”

The murmuring started again, and again Mom shut it down.

“Why did you flee the scene?” Mom asked.

I snorted. Loudly. “The press were incredibly antagonistic, we were worried that the bomber was still around or might be disguised as press and egging them on to violence, we saw an opening, and we ran to the safety of Rayburn House. We now feel unsafe to leave, but if I'm forced to remain in Rayburn House, I'm going to have to assume that the U.S. government actually wanted us herded here for some reason. And, if that's the case, I'm going to have to be offended on behalf of every A-C on the planet. And for those not on the planet as well.”

“We are, of course, horrified to hear of this attack, and relieved that all of you seem unharmed,” the President said. “However, the United States government had no hand in the car bombing.”

Chuckie scribbled something down and handed it to me.

“That's nice to hear. However, until the bombing is investigated—by the F.B.I., I presume, though I would prefer that the P.T.C.U. be the investigating agency, and that is an official, diplomatic request—there's no proof of that, is there? And it's going to take them more than five minutes to examine the remains of the car. In the meantime, we are literally trapped in Rayburn House. I'm requesting assistance to get us safely home to our Embassy.”

“We can request a police escort,” a different, somewhat familiar voice said. Chuckie scribbled again. Aha, Langston Whitmore, the Secretary of Transportation, was the speaker.

“Secretary Whitmore, terrorists are not the police department's bailiwick. They belong to the C.I.A., but even more so, they belong to the Presidential Terrorism Control Unit. Now, let me be very clear. At this moment, I have two royal emissaries from the most warlike planet in the Alpha Centauri system waiting at the American Centaurion Embassy. They are not overly clear on much, other than that the one person on this planet they are to obey without question happens to be me. Now, I'd like someone there to, perhaps, brief you on just what one woman from Beta Twelve is capable of. We'll wait.”

“Hello Ambassador Katt-Martini, it's Colonel Franklin.”

I liked Franklin a lot, and I wanted to be very sure that everyone else in the room knew I liked Franklin a lot. “Arthur, how are you? It's been too long since we've had a visit.”

Chuckie grinned and nodded.

“I'm well, and concerned for your safety. I can assure the rest of those present that just one Beta Twelve warrior would be capable of destroying a battalion, particularly if armed with a battle staff.”

“They never go out without them.” Had no clue if Rahmi and Rhee were packing battle staffs or not, but that wasn't important now.

“Two of them, therefore, would present a very real threat to U.S. security,” Franklin said.

Chuckie looked at me sharply. Not to worry, I knew where this was going.

“Oh, did I give the impression the two princesses were here for any kind of military action? I'm so sorry, Arthur, but not to worry. They're here to help celebrate my daughter's first birthday. It's a huge event in the Alpha Centauri system, particularly for Alpha Four and Beta Twelve. In order to keep a low profile, only the princesses have come. At this time.

“However, as I'm sure you can understand, I have very royal guests who are, by now, concerned about my welfare. They're young, and headstrong, and probably aren't nearly as well-trained in diplomacy as their mother, the queen, would like. It wouldn't surprise me if they felt it was incumbent upon them to come and rescue me from this situation, perhaps to show how dedicated they and the other Alpha Centauri planets are to those from that system who live on Earth. And that would be bad for relations, don't you agree?”

“Absolutely,” Franklin said. “And I'm assuming you're requesting the assistance of the P.T.C.U. because a military escort could give the wrong impression?”

Changed my mind. I didn't like Franklin; I loved him. “Exactly, Arthur. But we do want to give our statements to someone who can actually act on them. Again, we all know it's unlikely to be the police. And all of us were thrown by the blast—we all need to be examined by our Embassy Physician. The sooner the better.”

“Ambassador,” Whitmore said, “are you sure you're not requesting the P.T.C.U. simply because you want your mother to come and fix everything for you?”

The jaws of all the men in the room dropped. Yeah, I was also impressed with Whitmore's balls or lunacy, take your pick. Unfortunately for him, I knew a lot about him, potentially more than he realized, and I got this kind of crap from Hacker International all the time.

“Secretary Whitmore, while I'm fully aware that you have a host of unresolved and subjugated Mommy Issues, I'm not pretending to be anything I'm not. That my mother happens to be the most competent woman—and potentially the most competent staff member, period—that the President has working for him is something I'm quite proud of. That you're clearly intimidated by strong women says much more about your character, or lack thereof, than anything about either me or my mother.”

“I beg your pardon—” Whitmore started angrily.

“My pardon for your insult is not given, Secretary Whitmore. In fact, I expect an apology, immediately. Or I'm afraid I'm going to have to take your insinuations as an unfriendly act.”

Jeff was grinning. Chuckie looked amused in the way he always did when I was doing exactly what he expected and wanted me to do. Cliff looked impressed. Hoped Mom shared their opinions. Oliver, of course, looked like he was holding a winning lottery ticket.

“Apologize. Now.” The President didn't sound like he was asking.

“I apologize, Ambassador, for my careless and thoughtless remarks.” Whitmore sounded like his teeth were clenched. Figured they probably were.

“We'll have a full team from the P.T.C.U. over to you in just a few minutes, Ambassador,” the President said. “Including the Head of the Unit. Again, we want to stress that the United States government neither ordered nor condones any attacks on anyone attached to American Centaurion or Centaurion Division or those who work closely with Centaurion.”

“We feel confident that you, Mister President, along with Colonel Franklin and the P.T.C.U., are working for and with us. And thank you for your support.”

“We'll be to you shortly, Ambassador,” Mom said.

“We'll be waiting.”

We both hung up.

Jeff was still grinning. “I told you you'd be great at this job.”

“It's growing on me, I have to admit.”

“Well,” Cliff said. “That was . . . the most high-powered call I've ever been a part of. I really hope I have a job tomorrow.”

“You will. Or else I'll get that Unfriendly Act Feeling again.”

Cliff shook his head. “I'm amazed Secretary Whitmore was that aggressive with you, especially in that setting. You handled it really well.”

I shrugged. “As Wolverine would say, ‘These claws? They're adamantium, bub. I only pull 'em out for show. Or, you know, to stick 'em in someone who bothers me.' And Whitmore bothers me.”

Chuckie laughed. “And the lesson is, as it always is—never, ever piss off the comics-geek girl.”