Alien Research

CHAPTER 3

“DOWN!” Kyle shouted as he slammed his fist onto the laser shield button.

Though we all jumped, there wasn’t really a need for us to duck. American Centaurion limos were equipped with all the bulletproof stuff along with the aforementioned laser shielding, and many other snazzy extras. And while we’d had limos and other A-C vehicles blown up before, the bombs were put in or on before anyone got in, or they were tossed in through an open window.

Since it was summer and we had air conditioning, our windows were up. So I could see that what had hit us wasn’t all that dangerous.

“Why are people throwing rotten food at us?” Abigail asked as more things hit the limo and Len floored it.

Looked around and watched those tossing crap at us scramble onto the sidewalks. “Oh. Check out the signs. Club Fifty-One is gracing us with a visit and apparently protesting that we’re living here.”

“Unreal,” Len muttered. “Call the police,” he said to Kyle.

“I’ll do it.” I sent a text to Officer Melville, who was the head of the K-9 department and, by now, a personal friend. “We’re going to get complaints from our neighbors if those losers block the street.”

“I just don’t want them to hurt someone,” Naomi said, as she held one of Jamie’s hands and I held the other and Abigail called the Embassy and advised them that we had a problem outside and in the surrounding neighborhood.

Melville texted back. “Huh. Apparently the police are aware of the protestors and taking steps. He’s a little vague about said steps, but assured me all will be well.”

“So, should I take evasive action?” Len asked, as the music changed to “Everything Will Never Be Okay” by Fiction Plane, and we drove on past a lot more protestors, all of them equipped with a lot of foodstuffs.

Considered this as eggs and tomatoes hit the limo, because it wasn’t a stupid or overeager question—many times, the Club 51 grunts worked as distraction for their real heavy hitters. Considering our first meeting with them had resulted in our just managing to stop them from blowing up a packed commercial jet, it was wise to evaluate our options.

“I suppose it can’t hurt.”

Len nodded then started off down a series of random streets. We weren’t pursued, and once we were several blocks away from the Embassy, there were no more protestors.

The rest of the drive was uneventful, with all of us other than Len and Jamie taking calls or texts from Embassy personnel. We decided that a general, calm mention to our people in D.C. that Club 51 was out and about was sufficient.

I sent texts to Jeff and Chuckie so they’d know what had happened and be prepared in case the loons were protesting at Capitol Hill or around Rayburn House, the building where Jeff’s office was. I received automated “in a meeting, will reply when able” messages from both of them. Oh, well, they’d see the messages when they saw them.

We arrived at our destination, which was near Capitol Hill—the Teetotaler. We’d been introduced to this restaurant by Edmund and Nathalie Brewer, right before someone tried to assassinate Jeff. A gift from the owners had inadvertently saved Jeff’s life. Sadly, Edmund Brewer hadn’t been as lucky—he’d been one of those murdered during Operation Sherlock.

Based on what had happened when we left the Embassy, Kyle got out first while Len kept the limo running at the curb. Kyle went inside and was in there for a good five minutes. He came out and opened the passenger door on the curbside.

“I’ve checked the interior, including kitchen and bathrooms,” Kyle said as he helped Abigail out. “We’re clear. Rosemarie has a table set up for us that’s in the back, with full visual access of the entrances to the dining area.”

“She and Douglas are great.” I got Jamie out of her car seat while Kyle helped Naomi out. Then he took Jamie from me and helped me out. “Len, where are you going to park?” I asked him through the now-opened passenger’s window.

“Actually, I want to wash the car.”

Took a good look at the outside of the limo. It was pretty much covered with rotten food and garbage. The laser shield was great for protection, but it didn’t repel things that were oozy or sticky—it just didn’t let them in, so to speak.

But while things couldn’t get through the shield, the shield itself was dirty, and Len couldn’t turn it off without essentially sharing that there was a shield on the car. “Wash the car” was code for “get it out of sight and bring it back ‘cleaned’ off.” In a case like this though, where we’d been seen by a lot of people, the smart move was to actually go to a car wash and run the limo through.

Considering we weren’t alone on the sidewalk, it behooved me to play along. “Good thinking. We need to get the egg off this puppy before it’s too late. But I don’t want you going alone.”

Len shook his head. “You need protection.”

“I have my Glock and we all have hyperspeed. I don’t want either one of you wandering off alone. And that’s an order.” Regardless of how long it would or wouldn’t take Len to find a car wash, or a secluded spot to turn the laser shield off and thereby lose all the crap on it, then drive back, we’d been attacked and, as far as I was concerned, that meant no one wandered alone.

Len opened his mouth, to protest I was sure, but before he could say anything, four Field agents appeared inside the limo via a floater gate and stepped out. “We’ll take the limo in for cleaning,” one of them said. “Just call the Embassy when you’re ready to leave, Ambassador.”

I opened my mouth, to argue for sure, but the agent who wasn’t drop-dead gorgeous and, therefore, was the human who’d be driving, shook his head. “Mister Buchanan’s orders.”

“Malcolm has his own set of Field agents?” It was possible. Buchanan was assigned by my mother to protect me and Jamie, and even though he was human, he had Dr. Strange powers as far as I’d ever seen.

“Mister Buchanan suggested you get inside and off the street,” the human agent replied with a smile. He walked to the driver’s door and opened it.

Len sighed. “Fine.” He put the car into park and got out. “I’d recommend not going to a car wash anywhere near the Embassy or Capitol Hill.”

“I’ll let Mister Buchanan know you and he shared the same insight,” the human agent said. He and the others got into the limo and gave us all looks that suggested we move our butts. We so moved.

“Well, I’m hungry,” Kyle said, as he led us inside and to our table. “So, at least we’ll get to eat,” he added as he got Jamie situated into the highchair already at our table.

“Yeah.” Len grimaced.

“What’s wrong?” I asked him.

“I don’t like taking orders from him. He’s not our boss—you and Mister Reynolds are.”

Kyle grunted his agreement but didn’t say anything.

Sincerely felt that Len and Kyle didn’t like Buchanan because they saw him as proof that no one, my mother most of all, felt that they were good at their jobs. But Buchanan had a good decade and a half of field experience the boys didn’t, and it had been proven more than once that Mom was right—Jamie and I needed someone with mad skills who also didn’t feel that I or Chuckie were actually in a real position to give orders that had to be obeyed.

“Look at it as you’re getting to protect me and Jamie instead of the car while the car is in safe hands, and it’s a win all the way around. Besides, you know Rosemarie has your favorite ready for you.”

Len smiled. “That’s true. She’s the only one who can make French toast like my mother’s.”

The restaurant was small, so just a few people made it seem very full. However, people wandering around with security wasn’t all that unusual in D.C., so we didn’t get a lot of looks. Besides, the boys were in the Armani Fatigues, so they looked as much like young businessmen as they did security or C.I.A.

We settled down, Naomi and I with Jamie between us. Our regular table had a photo hanging above it, taken the first time we’d ever eaten here. Me, Jeff, Nathalie and Edmund Brewer, Reader, Vance Beaumont, Len, and Kyle, all smiling, looking like we were having fun, which we were. Our first meal here had been a small oasis of normalcy in the maelstrom that had been Operation Sherlock.

Rosemarie had put a little black ribbon on the frame under Edmund. Looking at that never failed to give me a lump in my throat.

Naomi saw where I was looking, reached over, and squeezed my hand. “Let’s order,” she said gently.

“Yeah.” Swallowed hard, then shoved my mind back to why we were here, which was to have breakfast and discuss our diplomatic mission’s upcoming schedules.

The food here was great and the teas were even better. We tried to get here at least once every couple of weeks, which meant we were considered special regulars. The number in our party changed, but whether we had two or twenty, the Teetotaler always accommodated.

Kyle had told Rosemarie what had happened, so she was extra attentive, and brought out some special muffins and jam and two pots of house-blended tea for us to snack on while our breakfast order was being prepared.

“So, in part to avoid talking about the unpleasantness you had to start your morning with, but mostly because it’s required that someone asks you the Official Question at least once a week,” Rosemarie said to Naomi, “how’s married life?”

Naomi grinned. “Just like last week, it’s great.”

“Good.” Rosemarie gave Jamie a kiss on the top of her head. “Looking forward to when you bring in your baby, too.” She bustled off.

Abigail laughed. “Nice to know that even casual acquaintances want to know when you and Chuck are going to get busy, Sis.”

“You mean aside from everyone’s parents, friends, associates, and, officially, all of Centaurion Division, American Centaurion, and probably the C.I.A.?” I asked.

“Feels that way some days. But it’s okay.” Naomi chuckled. “We’re not quite ready to start. But soon.” She winked at me. “We figure we need to get our Baby Number One before you and Jeff have your Number Two.”

“We’re in a race? No one told me.”

She laughed. “No. But we don’t want to wait too long to get started. Jeff’s not the only one who wants a lot of kids, you know.”

“Chuckie does?”

“We both do.” She kissed Jamie’s cheek. “You know how much I love my goddaughter, but she needs a girl playmate. She’s got plenty of boys. It’s clearly up to us to get Jamie a best girlfriend.”

“Cannot argue with the logic.”

We’d just finished scarfing down the muffins and jam when Rosemarie brought our food out. Muffins and jam had merely taken the edge off, for all of us, apparently. We dug in.

I’d just taken a huge bite of pancake loaded with butter and syrup when my phone rang. Always the way. Chewed quickly and didn’t bother to look at who was calling. “Hello?” Hey, my mouth was full, but I could get that out sort of clearly.

“Ambassador, I’d like to introduce myself.” A man’s voice, smooth but also dangerous. Quickly swallowed and also checked to see who this was—my phone shared that the number was blocked. It so figured.

“Yes?”

“I’m the man who’s going to destroy you and the so-called people you associate with.”

“Really?”

“Really. The alien scum you’ve chosen to align with are going to be no more. Soon. Not soon enough, but as soon as humanly possible.”

“Uh huh. Destroy, nasty names, alien phobia, gotcha. Don’t tell me, let me guess. You’re the new head honcho for Club Fifty-One.”