Universal Alien (13 page)

I
DID A QUICK PASS AROUND
the car while the assassins were getting out. I wanted them out of the car before I attacked, in part so they couldn't drive off and in part because if I could conserve my strength and not have to rip off the doors of their car, so much the better.

Three men and a woman got out. They were dressed all in black, wearing dark sunglasses, and packing serious heat. Unless they were filming a gangster movie on this street and no one had advised the neighborhood, these people meant serious killing business.

Up reasonably close they remained unfamiliar. Didn't know if this was good, bad, or indifferent. Also didn't know if I'd recognize any of them once I could get a closer, calmer look. Made the executive decision to take them out and check their IDs later.

How, was the question, particularly since Reader had asked me to incapacitate them if possible. I wasn't feeling kindly toward anyone in this car, of course, seeing as they'd just run me and the kids off the road and then gunned us down. Realized it was a really damned good thing I'd somehow switched places with my counterpart in this universe, at least for her and all the people I'd left in the house.

ACE?
I asked in my head.
ACE, are you there? Did you help me get here so I could save the day?
Nothing.
Algar?
Why not give it a shot to reach the King of the Elves?
Algar, if you can hear me, my free will could use an assist.
Nada. Chose not to freak out about this—maybe they could both hear me and were just playing possum for some reason, probably related to the fact that my luck remained consistent.

Had no more time to spend trying to reach benevolent superconciousnesses or rakishly handsome other-dimensional beings. I had some nasty assassins to take care of.

The woman was the closest to me. I grabbed the machine gun she was holding, wrenched it out of her hands, and slammed the butt into her stomach. As she buckled, I used the gun to give her an uppercut. She went down and out.

My hit caused her sunglasses to fly off, along with the blonde wig she appeared to be wearing. And now I did recognize her. It was Bernie, she of the pretend friendship in order to steal my baby and kill me during Operation Assassination. I kicked her in the head, just because I hated her guts.

Bernie being here meant that there was a really good chance that Raul the Pissed-Off Assassin was one of the men. He might not be that pissed off, either, since Bernie was alive. He might also be able to tell me who the Mastermind was—because if someone was controlling things in my universe, that same someone could be doing similar in this one, especially if the Mastermind was a human.

Used the gun I'd taken from Bernie to smash the nearest man in the back of his head. He went down, I gave his head another side blade kick to ensure he was out, grabbed his gun, and went on to the next. I'd search all of them for more weapons—which I was more than positive they had—once they were all down.

The remaining men were just realizing something was wrong when I body slammed one of them into the other. As they went down, I hit them both on their heads and grabbed their guns. They were both out and I was in possession of four machine guns before they hit the ground. Hyperspeed was the best. Enhanced strength wasn't so bad, either.

Machine guns were heavy and I had no idea what weapons Chuckie and Reader actually possessed. Ran the guns into the house, dumped them on the living room floor, then came back to do a body search of the hit squad.

A search of all the places I could think of on each person was going to take longer than I felt safe doing alone and out in the open, hyperspeed or no hyperspeed. Plus this was a residential neighborhood and someone was going to spot four strangers unconscious on the street sooner as opposed to later.

Dragged each of them back to the car and tossed them into the back seat. I wasn't particularly nice about it. Decided I'd feel bad later.

Four assassins in, doors closed, I got into the driver's seat, intending to move this car into our driveway. Only, as I turned the car on, the passenger's door opened and a man joined me. He had a gun out and it was pointed at me. “Hands where I can see them.”

I stared. “Excuse me?” Him being here shouldn't have shocked me, but it did.

“Hands. Where I can see them. Now. I don't know how you just did what you did, without being seen and so quickly, but I'm highly skilled with rapid-fire, and I guarantee I can hit you.”

“Wow. Even in this Bizarro World you have Doctor Strange powers.”

He blinked. “What?”

“I just can't believe that you're working with the bad guys, Malcolm. Did you switch before my Mom was killed, or after?”

He blinked again. “What the hell . . . ?”

I jerked my head toward the back seat. “Are these your friends? If they're your friends I'm sorry. For you. If they're your targets, then I have some questions for them before you do whatever it is you're planning to do, and a couple other dudes probably will as well.”

“How the hell do you know—?”

“How the hell do I know who you are? I've known you for three years. You're Malcolm Buchanan, aka Mister Skills, aka Doctor Strange. No one sees you unless you want to be seen. You can kill people in like fifty different ways.” On that I was just guessing, but my experience with Buchanan was that if it was possible, he could do it. “You're a superspy. At least, I hope. If you're a super assassin our beautiful friendship is going to be in jeopardy.”

“What friendship?” His eyes narrowed. “How do you know my name?”

Heaved a sigh. “Okay, I'll try to fill you in before the assassins who tried to kill me and three little kids earlier today and were clearly coming back to finish the job wake up. But first, are you with them or with the C.I.A. or whatever? I'll still tell you what's going on, regardless of your answer, by the way.”

“You will? Why is that?”

“Because, seriously, we're friends.”

“Sure we are.”

Decided this was getting us nowhere. Time to test a technique Christopher and I, along with my Secret Service detail, had been working on—taking someone's gun from them without getting shot or beaten up. I was pretty good at it by now.

Reached out and grabbed the hand and wrist holding the gun, pointed it up, hit a pressure point that caused his hand to release, twisted his wrist, snagged the gun, and turned it back on him. All in about one second. As per usual, when the skills were working at optimum, there wasn't anyone around, Christopher in particular, to impress.

Buchanan gaped at me. “How the hell—?”

“How the hell did I do that? And without you seeing or having time to react? It's part of the story I'm going to tell you. But first, you're going to tell me who you work for.”

The passenger's door opened again. Only this time Reader was standing there, with a gun pointed at Buchanan's head. “Hands where I can see them.”

“Wow, that's a running theme with you guys, isn't it? James, do you recognize Malcolm Buchanan here?”

“Who?” Reader grabbed Buchanan and pulled him where he could see his face. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“Trying to keep the Corporation from killing all of you.”

“Which one? Titan Security, Gaultier Enterprises, or YatesCorp?”

Both men looked at me blankly. Reader recovered fastest. “He means the Cuban Mob.” Buchanan nodded.

“Ah. Gotcha. So, James, is Malcolm C.I.A. or is he with another Alphabet Agency or has my friend here gone to the dark side?”

“He's C.I.A. Well, he was. He went rogue.”

“What the hell are you doing, telling her that?” Buchanan sounded furious.

Reader rolled his eyes. “Kitty, what's the garbage in the back?”

“Four assassins. I do actually know one of them and that means I sort of know one of the others. I knocked them out but we really need to get them tied up and all their extra weapons removed. Soon.” I could hear the sounds of people starting to come to.

Reader nodded and let go of Buchanan. He opened the rear door and karate chopped everyone back there. The sounds of awakening ceased.

“I like your style, James, I've always said so. I was planning to drive this car onto the driveway before Malcolm interrupted me.”

“Put it in the garage. There's room, since the SUV was destroyed.” Reader shot Buchanan a derisive look. “Where were you earlier today when these four attacked?”

“Where were
you?
” Buchanan sounded pissed. “You were called back because of this threat, and instead of doing anything to protect the innocents, you and Mister Brilliant headed off to a meeting.”

“Wow, I can't wait to get all the juicy details—and I mean that sincerely, because this sounds like a Very Special Episode of As The C.I.A. Turns—but we need to get the hell off this street before some nice person comes over to see what's going on.”

Reader nodded. “I'll get the garage opened up.” He trotted across the street and into the house while Buchanan got back into the car.

“Can I have my gun back?”

“Nope. I like it. And I can drive one-handed. I'm skilled.” The car was already started, so putting it into gear with just my left hand wasn't hard. Drove the short way into the garage with the gun trained on Buchanan.

“I thought you said we were friends.”

“We are, where I come from. Here? I'm not so sure. And it sounds like you're not exactly BFFs with James and Chu—ah, Charles.”

Buchanan stared at me. “You're not her. You're not Kitty, not the real one.”

“Wow, you
are
good. And, points to your team or whatever, because it took a hell of a lot more convincing for James and I'm not sure that Charles is on board yet. What gave me away, besides everything?” The garage door closed and I turned the car off.

“Kitty doesn't call him Chuck or Chuckie, not in public. It's Charles, all the time. How did they find someone who matches her so completely?”

“Oh, that's all part of my fun story I'll tell you when we have a moment's breathing space. Does the Kitty that you've been shadowing know you exist?”

“No.” He looked away. “No, she doesn't.”

“Why not?”

“She doesn't need to know that I'm there.”

Considered what Reader had said about Buchanan going rogue. “You left the C.I.A. after my mother, Angela, was killed, didn't you?”

“We were set up. And I know it was an inside job. Hell yeah, I left.”

Thought about how who Mom had on her team in my world. “So . . . is Kevin Lewis on the team?”

“He was.”

Was. “Um, what happened to him?”

Buchanan turned back to me, and pain and anger flashed out of his eyes. “As with the rest of our team—other than Reader, Reynolds, and myself—he and his entire family were murdered. By the same people trying to kill all of you.”

“O
KEY DOKEY,”
I said as Reader opened the rear door. “I just want some questions answered, and then I have no problem killing all of them. Ugly.” I'd met most of the folks in the P.T.C.U. by now, and Kevin, Denise, and their kids, Raymond and Rachel, were my friends, and I loved them. The idea that someone had murdered them in this world made me want to hurt whoever had done it in a very real, very painful, and very personal way.

Reader sighed. “We have no actual proof that we were set up. That's the story he's telling you, right?”

“Yeah. I have no problem believing it. Where I come from, this kind of crap happens all the time.”

“Where
do
you come from?” Buchanan asked, as I indicated he could get out of the car and help Reader haul assassins out.

“Check them, James. I only grabbed the machine guns. I'm sure they're all armed to the teeth. And cyanide capsules aren't out of the question, either.”

“Jeez, did you and Buchanan drink the same conspiracy theory Kool-Aid?”

“You're not going to stand there and say that Charles isn't still the Conspiracy King, are you?”

“No, he is,” Reader admitted. “But not like Buchanan here is.”

“It's not a theory if you can prove it's real.”

“Good point, Malcolm. Hold onto that mindset, because when I answer your question, you're going to need to have that open mind going strong.”

The men searched our captives and found an impressive arsenal strapped and hidden about their various persons.

New household armory established in the living room, Buchanan drew all the blinds and curtains and locked all the doors while Reader gave me zip ties and duct tape. I had our assassins trussed up like Cajun Turkeys by the time Reader was back with Chuckie and the others.

“Kids, no one touches any of the weapons, or else being spanked and grounded will be the least of your worries.”

“We try not to spank the children,” Chuckie said.

“I'm all for that, as long as none of them touch the guns, knives, or explosives. However,” I shot Mom's Hairy Eyeball Look at all three children, “all bets are off if this particular ‘don't touch' order is disobeyed.”

The three kids nodded and clustered around Dad. Good choice.

“Malcolm, it's good to see you,” Dad said. “How have you been?”

“He's been out in the cold, apparently, and I mean that totally in the spy talk way, Dad. I think everyone in the room is about to hear a lot of interesting things that are going to make most of you go ‘no way!' and similar. Trust me when I say that what I'm going to tell you is true, and I'm sort of betting on Malcolm being right, too.” At least, in my world, he was always right. Why not here?

“Should I take the children elsewhere?” Dad asked.

“No. They deserve to hear what I'm going to say, Max in particular.”

“Could we move the guns and such, Katherine?” Aunt Carla asked. “At least so we can all sit down?”

“Sure,” Chuckie said. He jerked his head at Buchanan and Reader, and the three of them moved our arsenal off the couch and onto the dining room table. The table had a really pretty tablecloth on it. Chose not to whine about how the weapons were probably going to wreck that, even though Pierre's expression said that this, more than anything else that had happened in these past few minutes, was the most horrible thing ever. Then again, the couch and floor looked okay, so maybe the tablecloth would survive, too.

While they were doing this I contemplated what to do with the assassins. I didn't want them hearing anything Buchanan or I were going to say, but at the same time, I didn't want to keep on knocking them out, lest we cause brain damage. I didn't care about their brains, but, as I'd been repeatedly told today, people with concussions had memory issues, and I wanted what was in their memories.

The idea of putting them into another room was appealing, only every TV show and movie was a crash course in why this was a bad idea. Keeping your enemies where you could see—and stop and/or kill—them was the way to go.

“Do we have any wax or anything?”

“Uh, why?” Chuckie asked.

“Dude, to put into the assassins' ears. I don't want them hearing anything we're going to be saying. Seems obvious to me.” Bernie was coming around. Realized I didn't want any of the assassins looking at the civilians. I didn't want them looking at the house, either. “Do you have an unfinished basement or weight room or something?”

Chuckie nodded. “But I don't want to leave them down there unattended.”

“I like where your head's at. And, I agree, but I don't want them knowing where they are, either.” I grabbed Bernie's legs and dragged her off at hyperspeed. This conveniently knocked her out again. Oh well, we'd just have to risk the brain damage.

It was easy to find the door to the basement, which was a pleasant surprise. You entered via the kitchen. Wondered if I could ask for a snack—I was getting hungry.

Broke down and dragged Bernie downstairs holding her under her armpits, versus letting her head hit each stair, though being nice like this took effort. Deposited her in a really nicely furnished and actually finished basement that appeared to be doubling as both a workout room—which came complete with a gigantic bathroom that had five toilets, sinks, and showers—and an impressive wine cellar. Wondered if one of the walls spun around to reveal a superspy lair, but figured I'd find out later.

Passed Reader and Buchanan carrying one of the male assassins all nicely. Well, they didn't have the history with Bernie that I did.

Got upstairs and grabbed the next assassin. “If we got lucky and they had ID on them, can you figure out if one of them is named Raul, or if one of them is married to Bernie, or if any of them are named Dier or Diaz?” I asked Chuckie, who was keeping everyone else in place. “It's important.”

He nodded and I dragged off Assassin #3. Passed Reader and Buchanan on their way back up. Dumped my dude next to the other dude, and contemplated options.

The weight room had a mirror on the wall that opened up to the Super Bathroom, so I didn't want them facing that. Happily, there was a wall that went three-quarters of the way across between the wine cellar and the workout room. Moved the assassins so that they were facing this wall, which meant their backs were to the mirror. So far, so good.

Reader and Buchanan brought the last one down. Buchanan moved a weight bench so that we could sit the four of them up and lean them against the bench to keep them in a sitting position.

I'd done prisoner interrogations before, but I'd had Jeff, Christopher, Gower, and Reader helping me. Of course, I'd also had Chuckie helping me. The thing was, I knew I couldn't count on either Chuckie or Reader to react how I needed them to, and Buchanan was currently the textbook definition of Loose Cannon.

Reader trotted upstairs and came back with Chuckie. “Kitty, do you want to tell us what's going on now?” he asked.

“Nope. I want to know who, if anyone, is named Raul in this group.”

Chuckie pointed to the guy we had on the opposite end from Bernie. Good. I didn't want them near each other in the first place. “Raul Diaz. Bernice Diaz is the woman. The other men have no ID on them. Why these two do is suspicious.”

“Super. They have ID because they're married and they like to get up close and personal with their targets, and that means you need to have a driver's license on you just in case the cops pull you over for speeding. Do we have chloroform or something? Trust me when I say we do not want these guys hearing what we're going to discuss.”

Chuckie and Reader exchanged one of their signs and Reader went to the wine cellar. I followed him. He shifted five different bottles in five separate areas of the wine rack on the far wall. On the sixth bottle, the wall opened to reveal a room that was set up as a computer center with many extras.

“Nice setup,” Buchanan said from behind me. “Company approved?”

“No,” Chuckie replied. “Angela thought it would be wise to have. Off book.”

“I just knew you guys had a secret room here somewhere. You have one in your house in Australia, too, don't you?”

“Yes, we do.” Chuckie rubbed the back of his neck. “You're not my Kitty, are you?”

Wondered just how dense my counterpart was, then thought about it a little more. I'd been clueless about what my parents and Chuckie were actually doing until I was twenty-seven—later even for Chuckie—and if I hadn't been around a forming superbeing, I'd probably still be clueless. She trusted the people she loved the most, just like I had. Wondered how she was handling the discoveries she was undoubtedly making. She was me, in that sense, so I figured she'd roll with whatever punches came along.

“No, I am Katherine Katt, but I'm not
your
Katherine Katt, thanks for joining Team Reality Check. Let's drug these creeps and then I'll share the wonder that is me.”

“Truly,” Chuckie said, “I can't wait.”