Universal Alien (19 page)

“W
HAT DO YOU MEAN,
it's your fault if Jamie has autism?”

Chuckie shook his head and didn't answer. Thought about all the various conspiracies he'd told me about over the years, especially those about the C.I.A.

“You think the C.I.A. gave you some drug, don't you?”

“I do.” The words sounded dragged out of him, and his voice was very low. Got the distinct impression he hadn't shared these thoughts with Reader. It was clear he'd never shared them with Other Me. I could tell by how he was acting.

“Did my mother approve that? Is it something you remember happening?”

“No to both, but there's no other explanation that makes sense.” He sounded desperate, and desperately scared. I wasn't used to Chuckie being this emotional—he was normally laid-back and cool. Intense in bed, yes, and in a good way, but otherwise, he'd learned to keep his cool before I'd ever met him.

Considered my reply carefully therefore. “Autism could be caused by someone slipping you some LSD or something you don't remember, sure. But there are so many other factors.” Extremely high intelligence, for example. Figured that wasn't going to be a comforting alternate, so kept it to myself. “Besides, I realize that your Jamie is a lot quieter than mine, but she doesn't seem off.”

“Really? Have you seen her room?”

“Yeah. The mirror is a little . . . odd, I'll give you that. But she's clearly functioning at a high level.”

“She's not a normal kid, and not in the way Charlie and Max aren't normal. Her interactions with us are limited—she'd rather stare at that mirror all day and night than leave the house, let alone interact with any of us. It's like she's addicted to TV or video games, but at least with those there would be something we could deal with in a straightforward way. When we try to limit her mirror time she gets . . . difficult.”

“You mean she throws a temper tantrum.”

He nodded. “Of epic proportions. And it's not just that. She's listless and uninterested most of the time unless she's in front of her mirrors. The few times she really communicates she comes out with these proclamations of doom. Never of anything good, and certainly not all the time. Usually she's wrong. But there are times she's been right. Charlie told me that Jamie said you were all going upside down today, in the car, before they left the garage. She wanted everyone to stay home. And, she was right. It was a dangerous situation.”

“Yeah. One I realize Other Me wouldn't have survived. Okay, we'll deal with that as we can, but I want you to look at me, right in my eyeballs.” He did. “You are not responsible for this, any more than Other Me is. If your Jamie really
is
autistic, this is not a ‘fault' situation. This is a ‘pull together and figure it out' situation, but you aren't to blame. And I can guarantee Other Me would feel the same way. If, you know, you actually told her.”

“I can't,” he muttered, as he dropped his eyes again. “She'd never forgive me.”

I snorted. “Dude, seriously. She's going to have the same ‘what the hell?' reaction I did when the truth comes out, but that's all. I'll tell you what she's going to be mad about—you lying to her about what you and James do and Mom did. That's going to be something you need to apologize for. I'm sure she'll understand—I did, when I found out. But at the same time, that's the betrayal. Not this.”

“She thinks I'm cheating on her, when we're on missions I can't tell her about.” He sounded ready to break down. This was not good.

“Dude, stop doing this to yourself. And to her. Tell her the damn truth. Sure, she'll worry, but she worries now. Let her worry about the reality, not the lie. I mean, unless you
are
cheating on her.”

He looked up and his eyes flashed. “Kitty, you've been the only woman I've ever loved in my life. No, I'm not cheating on you. Her. You know what I mean.”

“Yeah, I do.” Heaved a sigh. “It took the you in my world a long time to get over me, so I can easily believe this. What I can't believe is that you haven't worked together to fix your Jamie. And you haven't by the way you're acting, and by the way everyone else is acting. Use the word. Own the word. Find out if the word is right. But stop hiding from the word. Not saying the word doesn't change the reality. Only doing something positive, or negative, can change the reality.”

He nodded and gave me a weak smile. “I suppose you're right.”

“You said you thought Marling was a quack. Why?”

“Jamie doesn't seem to like music, even though Kitty and the boys do. He said that she's listening to a different soundtrack in her head, and once we can find that frequency, then we can really get through to her.”

“Yeah, I can actually understand that—both why you think it's crazy and why I think it could make sense. Though, honestly, there hasn't been one thing I've said to her or done with her today that she's hasn't fully comprehended and been involved with.”

Chuckie eyed me for a long couple of seconds. “Yeah. She's responding to you much more than she does her real mother.”

“Yeah, and I think that—unlike Charlie, who thought I was Other Me, or Max, who was sure I wasn't—Jamie knew from the get-go that I was someone else, but she
wanted
me here.”

Chuckie rubbed the back of his neck. “It's getting more complicated, the more we talk about it, not less.”

“True, but when you switch universes, some complication needs to be expected. We need to stop powwowing, by the way. James has been blocking us from Julio and Bernie, and Malcolm seems to be indicating that the other two are conscious, so we need to decide what we do with them.”

“We'll have the Agency pick them up.”

“That sounds good, but I have another question for Julio before we go that route.” Chuckie's concerns had brought up something I needed to check.

Trotted back to Lopez and Bernie. She was glaring at me, he looked worried. Showing he was smarter than he looked. “Julio, have a question for you. Bernie, I've tortured stuff out of him while you were unconscious. I don't want to have to do that again. So, your choice—I knock you out, which I am
all
for, or you don't blame Julio for wanting to not have to drop trou again.”

“Fine,” she snarled. “It doesn't matter what he tells you—I'll get you for murdering my husband.”

“Oh, blah, blah, blah. I hear that a lot. Don't care. And, trust me, it's taking everything I have to not just break your neck right now. I'd shut the hell up if I were you.” Bernie subsided and I turned back to Lopez. “So, Julio, the people we were discussing, the ones running the Corporation, where in the government do they work, do you know?”

“No idea. Really.”

Saw Bernie smirk out of the corner of my eye. So she knew. “Bernie, I have a proposition for you. You give me something I want, I give you something you want.”

“What's that?” she sneered. “To let me live?”

“Actually, no. To let Raul live.”

“You killed him already,” she snapped.

Showing he was paying attention, Buchanan dragged a body with a black bag over its head in front of Bernie. He pulled the bag up, showing Raul, alive if not overwhelmingly well. Bernie and Lopez both gasped. Nice to know they really thought we'd killed him. Told me that these were probably enemies it wasn't going to be wise to show mercy toward. Worked for me.

Buchanan put the bag back over Raul's head, pulled a gun, and put it against the bag. “Tell her what she wants to know, or I get rid of this piece of trash for real.”

“There aren't real bullets in your gun,” Bernie sneered.

Buchanan turned the gun on her and shot her in the thigh in less than a second. Apparently Buchanan was on the “show no mercy” mindset already.

I managed not to let my jaw drop while Bernie screamed. Didn't look to see if Chuckie and Reader approved of this—because if I showed weakness now, Buchanan was going to actually have to kill these people. And while I was willing to do it, I didn't want us to have to.

“It's a clean shot,” he said. “You can get patched up and be fine. If you tell us what we want to know. Otherwise, I shoot him in the head with the rest of the very real bullets in my very real gun.”

“They work for the C.I.A.,” Bernie said through gritted teeth. “Somewhere in there, we don't know where. But when Reid was in charge, he always indicated that his right hand was hidden in the C.I.A., and from all that he's done since taking over, it sounds right.”

“What are their names?” I asked. “Papa Patrón and Señora de Muerte. What are their
real
names?”

She shook her head. “I don't know.” But her eyes flicked to Raul.

“Raul knows,” I told Buchanan. He pulled off the bag and ripped off the duct tape covering Raul's mouth. “I know you've heard everything. Tell us the names, or my friend here gets to shoot your wife wherever he wants.”

“You claim to be better than us, but you're not,” Raul growled.

“No, see, we
are
better than you. We don't have your little kids here and we aren't trying to kill them. We also didn't attack you without warning—you attacked us. These are simple distinctions. You're just bitter that we were able to stop you and turn the tables, so to speak. Now, answer my question or watch what happens to your wife.”

Buchanan pointed his gun at Bernie's other thigh. “Hard to walk if you're shot up in both legs,” he said conversationally.

“The woman, no one knows her real name,” Raul said quickly. “They call each other by their Corporation aliases at all times and she didn't show up until Señor Reid was killed. The man, though, I've heard different names for him. But they're all aliases, too, I can guarantee it.”

“Give them to me.”

“Señor Reid called him Michael Corleone, I heard him introduced as Farallón Tipobueno to a few businessmen, but mostly it was
Menor
Patrón
, Junior Boss, until he took over.”

“Why does he wear a mask?”

“Same as for the all the aliases—so we can't identify him and therefore can't betray him. He's not Cuban and he's not Mexican. He's a white American, like all of you. Señor Reid was white, too, but he understood Cuba. This one?” Raul shrugged. “He understands how to make the Corporation strong again, and we respect that.”

“Why would your identifying the head of the Corporation be a problem?” Chuckie asked from behind me. “It's not like you all didn't know the Battles when they were running things.”

“Papa Patrón isn't trusting. Now, I've told you the truth. Are you going to let my wife bleed out?”

“Oh, it's tempting, but I guess not,” Reader said. He'd procured a med kit, presumably from the Secret Spy Room, and knelt down near Bernie. Chuckie moved Lopez away from her so he couldn't try anything.

While Reader performed battlefield medical treatment and Buchanan covered everyone with his gun, I went back to check on Sanchez. He was awake. Picked him up and brought him back out with the others. “Look, another party favor.”

Raul glared at me. “You think you're funny.”

“No, I think I'm hilarious. I also think your loyalty was to Reid, not to Battle or to Mister Aliases.”

Raul shrugged. “Señor Reid helped me when I was young. I show my appreciation.”

“What has Papa Patrón done for you lately?”

“Paid us well to kill off everyone on Angela Katt's team.”

This wasn't news, but it still made me see red. “Which one of you killed her?”

“I told you, Papa Patrón did that himself. I would have, if he'd let me. She killed Señor Reid.”

“Actually,” Chuckie said, and his voice was tight, “she didn't. I did.”

R
AUL STARED AT CHUCKIE
for a long moment. “Then I'm doubly sorry we didn't kill you and all your family today.”

That did it. I punched Raul as hard as I could, which was pretty hard. Uppercut. He went back, down, and out.

“I think you broke his jaw,” Buchanan said conversationally. “Nice hit.”

“It was that or kill him. Okay, we can't turn these four over to who you normally would—their benefactor is in the C.I.A., meaning that the hunt for all of my mother's team was essentially put in place by a mole. And said mole will ensure they ‘escape' and come after us again. I'm not willing to risk that.” Especially because Other Me and I might be back in our own worlds when that happened.

“Mole hunts are never pleasant,” Chuckie said.

“And I'd figure this mole has it set up to make it look like whoever the last man standing out of the team is the one who killed everyone else. Malcolm, based on James' reactions when he saw you, I'd say that you drew the Tom Cruise role in the first
Mission Impossible
movie.”

He nodded. “So, what do we do with them? I'm fine with killing them.”

“Make up your mind,” Reader said. “I'm putting a lot of effort into not letting Miz Charm here bleed out.”

“I think we need to call in friends from overseas. I suggest Mossad, but MI Six is also a great option.”

“We have Mossad contacts,” Reader admitted.

“I'm sure you do. My mom was in Mossad when she was younger, wasn't she?”

“Yes,” Chuckie said. His voice sounded funny. Looked at him. He looked funny, too.

“James, the moment Bernie's patched up, make the call to Mossad. Tell them we need these people picked up fast and we're only turning them over if we have their assurance that they will not be handed right back to the Corporation or to the C.I.A.”

“You got it, girlfriend.”

It was nice to hear Reader sounding like my Reader. But Chuckie was not acting like my Chuckie. Grabbed him and went back to our whispering corner. “What's wrong?”

“I can't tell her I'm C.I.A. If I do, then I have to tell her it's my fault her mother's dead. And she'll never forgive me for that, ever.”

“Chuckie, seriously, you're losing it.” He winced. “Sorry, look, I've only used that name for you since the first day of high school. Not embarrassing you is an adjustment we don't have time for. Unless you pulled the trigger or shoved her in front of a bullet, how the hell is these assholes murdering Mom your fault?”

“It was my operation. Things went wrong . . .” He looked old, very old, suddenly, and I realized he'd been carrying this guilt for well over two years.

Thought back. I remembered how Mom had been during the Party of Death that was the start of Operation Sherlock—she'd given me a giant bear hug for no real reason, and hadn't been able to tell me about what mission she'd been on at that time. The timing wasn't quite the same, but then again, Reid was dead by then in our world. Didn't matter—Mom had probably almost died on that mission, whatever that mission was. If there had been a mole in the C.I.A. or P.T.C.U., maybe my mother would be dead in my world, too.

Of course, the Mastermind was somewhere high up in the government. Meaning that Mom probably survived because there were aliens on the planet and Centaurion Division always ensured that the P.T.C.U. had Field agent back up.

I took one of Chuckie's hands. “Look, what you do and what Mom did is highly dangerous work. And it sounds like there's a mole in the C.I.A. In fact, if you guys were after the Corporation, then it's a guarantee that nothing you guys could have done—regardless of who'd planned the operation—would have gone right. It was set up for all of you to die. That you only lost Mom is probably miraculous.”

“She'll never—”

“Stop selling us short!” I hissed this as vehemently as I could, hopefully without sharing it with everyone else. “You know what I see as the problem in your relationship? The fact that you've spent so many years lying to the person you love the most under the guise of protecting her that you can't believe that she can roll with whatever you throw at her. But she
can
, and I know that because she's freaking me. I handled aliens on the planet without batting an eyelash.” Okay, I'd fainted, but that was because Jeff had implanted some memory in me and besides, that wasn't important now. “She can certainly handle this.”

“What if she can't? What if this, combined with Jamie and everything else makes her . . . ?”

“Makes her what?”

“Makes her want to stay in your world?”

“My God when did you become a Drama Llama?”

Reader came over. “Sorry to interrupt the domestic dispute, but I've sent a message to our main contact at Mossad, complete with pictures of our four friends over there. Waiting to hear back.”

“What do we do with them in the meantime?”

Reader shrugged. “No idea. I'm more interested in translating the aliases they gave us.”

“They're worthless,” Chuckie said morosely.

Channeled Mom. “Snap out of it, and that's a damn order.”

Both men jerked and straightened up. “What?” Chuckie asked.

“I said to cut it out, and I mean it. Stop moping and wallowing in drama about all the many ‘what ifs' you've decided are so all-encompassing and, instead, put the best mind in the multiverse to the task at hand. We need to figure out if those stupid aliases give us anything to work with to identify the mole in the C.I.A. who happens to be running the Cuban Mob. Unless you're just too busy feeling sorry for yourself, that is.”

Chuckie blinked. “My Kitty never talks to me like that,” he said finally.

“Maybe she should. Maybe she will. I can
guarantee
she will if you're still trying to blame yourself for every problem in the world when she gets back. Now, focus. We have four aliases to work with. Chop, chop, time's a wastin'.”

Chuckie nodded slowly and gave himself a little shake. “Okay. Papa Patrón is obvious—Father Boss. Junior Boss is the right translation for Menor Patrón, and that seems both obvious and not like we get anything more.”

“Other than confirmation that Reid was your first Sith Lord and that the current Papa Patrón was his Apprentice. Which the Michael Corleone name indicates, too. The son who will actually take over the mob.”

Reader nodded. “Yeah. It also could indicate there were other ‘sons' who didn't survive.”

“Then they, like all of Reid's rivals in the Corporation, are dead. This isn't a group that sends their competition off to rest homes or vacations in Aruba.”

“True enough,” Reader said. “So, what about our last name, Farallón Tipobueno?”

“That name isn't one I've heard before,” Chuckie said. “Either first or last.”

“Frankly, like Raul said, it sounds made up.” Thought about it. “LaRue Demorte must be a made up name, too. It never occurred to me before, because she was working for Gaultier and at the time I met her I didn't think of her as an evil genius. So, it's a safe bet she's Señora de Muerte. Gaultier was French, so she put her fake name into French. Now she's tied up with the Cuban Mob, so she's put her fake name into Spanish . . .”

“What?” Reader asked. “Oh. Wait. You think Papa Patrón has done the same thing, don't you?”

“Yeah, I do. I just don't speak Spanish well enough—well, at all, really—to be able to translate it.”

Chuckie clenched his jaw. “It would figure,” he snarled.

“What would?”

“Hang on, I need to be sure.” He had his phone out. “Give me a minute, Google has a nice translation program.”

Reader's phone rang while Chuckie's phone was connecting. Apparently A-Cs on the planet meant that telecommunications was a lot better. “Yes? Hey. Yes. Yes, we'll only release with your guarantee that they won't be extradited to either Cuba or the U.S. Frankly, we want them on ice forever. Oh? Really? Well then, we're pleased to have done a favor for our friends. Yeah, please, as soon as possible.”

Reader hung up and chuckled. “Turns out the Israelis are looking for all four of them. Something about some high-ranking operatives being assassinated over the past couple of years.”

“Think they were going after Mom's friends in Mossad?”

“I think it's very possible,” Reader said. “Your Sith Lord seems to have a real hatred of Angela, to an almost insane degree.”

“They were absolutely going after all of Angela's friends, but not because of her. Because of me.” Chuckie sounded furious, though not guilty. So, one for the win column. “I should have seen it—this guy's been jealous of me since we met and spent the first part of our careers constantly trying to one-up me. He's a loose cannon. Brilliant, but unhinged. I always felt he got in due to political connections, and if Reid pulled strings, that would fit.”

“James and I are breathless with anticipation to learn who this guy is so we can go kill him. So, you know, in your own time and all that.”

Chuckie looked at me, and his eyes were flashing with rage. “Farallón Tipobueno translates in a Spanish-Cuban fusion to Cliff Goodman.”