Gini Koch - Alien Research

“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.”

E VERYONE AT MY TABLEstopped eating and stared at me, looks of trepidation on every face.

Other than Jamie, who was thankfully playing with her Poof, Mous-Mous, while eating. Naomi had cut up all her food into perfect little bites, which was more proof of how much Jamie adored her. She hadn’t allowed me or Jeff to cut up her food for months because she could do it herself and normally wanted to. She might only be eighteen months old, but she was advanced in a lot of ways, and this was merely one of them.

Mous-Mous came along wherever Jamie went, and since Poofs looked like fluffy balls of fur with ears, paws, and big button eyes, but no tails, it appeared that Jamie was playing with a stuffed animal. A stuffed animal that could go Jeff-sized and toothy should danger appear, but a stuffed animal at this size, nonetheless. The Poofs had been outed along with the rest of us, but even so, they tended to pass as stuffed more often than not.

My new special caller chuckled and dragged me away from the momentary enjoyment of watching my daughter innocently playing “one bite for me, one bite for you” with her pet. “That’s right.”

“Going to give me your name?”

“Not yet. You’ll know me soon enough. Enjoy the rest of your day.” With that he hung up.

Stared at my phone. “Well, that was fun. Threatening calls, they’re great for the digestion.”

“We shouldn’t discuss it here,” Abigail said. “Just in case we’re being watched for our reactions.”

Surreptitiously looked around. No one seemed to be paying us any attention.

“We need to finish up,” Naomi said. “If they’re calling you, you know that means they’ve got something else in motion.”

Everyone nodded and we went from enjoying our meal to speed eating. The Gower girls and I didn’t use hyperspeed—them because it wasn’t wise to do so out in public, me because I wasn’t really good with eating at non-human levels just yet and didn’t feel like having syrup smeared all over my face, or hair, or worse.

We’d just finished up, Jamie included, when a group of businessmen and one businesswoman came in.

Len, who was on my other side and watching all the entrances, stiffened. “This can’t be good,” he said quietly.

“Who is it?”

He shot me a look I was familiar with—the “why don’t you ever read the briefing materials” look. “The heads of Gaultier Enterprises, Titan Security, and YatesCorp.”

“Oh. Right.” Yeah, they did look vaguely familiar. “Or, as we call them, our own personal Axis of Evil. This morning just keeps on getting better and better, doesn’t it?”

Naturally, said Axis were looking directly at us. They all smiled. I now knew exactly how a sea lion felt when faced with a group of great white sharks.

Sure enough, they headed straight for us.

“Ambassador Katt-Martini,” the lead Land Shark said. “How fortunate that we find you here.”

“Is it?” I’d avoided meeting all these people in person, but this was definitely Ansom Somerall, who was the current acting Chairman of the Board of Gaultier Enterprises. He was about six-two, average build, normally attractive. He had a full head of silver hair, but he was only in his mid-fifties.

“Of course,” Somerall replied with what I was sure he felt was a charming smile. “Fortunate for me to get to be in the company of four beautiful American Centaurion ladies.” He made sure to look at each of the females at the table, including Jamie.