Alien Collective (12 page)

“T
RUTH,” JEFF SAID
. “Who is Hubert Siler?”

“Who is Keyser Soze?” This earned me the “you so crazy” looks from Jeff and Christopher, chuckles from Buchanan and Tito, and a still-not-up-to-our-high-standards glare from Siler. Prince shared that he thought I was hilarious, though, so there was that.

“My uncle was real. Quite real. He’s the only reason I escaped to have an even halfway normal life.”

“Where is he now?” Buchanan asked.

“Dead,” Siler snapped. “For years. He found me, rescued me from his sisters’ insanity, and we hid out until they lost interest in us.”

“Sounds like a great movie. Only issue is, I’d never lose interest in someone who can go invisible, and I’m just going to spitball here and say that your parents and their buddies didn’t, either.”

“They didn’t,” Jeff said. “He’s desperately trying to hide this, God alone knows why, but he and his uncle spent his childhood on the run. He’s lived all over Eurasia.”

“He’s trying to hide it so we’ll know less about him,” Buchanan said. “Assume he can speak several languages fluently, possibly all of the languages of Europe, since he’s been around for decades and had the time to learn. It takes money and connections to be able to run and hide like that. So the family, or at least the uncle, had both. Most likely answer is that the uncle was in intelligence work and took his nephew along.”

“Or his uncle was an assassin, and also took his nephew along.”

“Ah,” Jeff said. “That’s the right answer, baby.”

“And so not a shocker. That’s why you’re working with the Dingo Dog and Surly Vic.”

Siler blinked. “That’s what you call them? To their faces?” He looked and sounded shocked, horrified, and just slightly impressed.

Controlled the Inner Hyena, though it took effort. “No, dude, I’m neither moronic nor suicidal. I call them Uncle Dingo and Uncle Surly to their faces. If you catch my drift.”

Siler’s horror remained intact on his expression. “And they’re okay with that?”

“Oh, my God, no! I call them Uncle Peter and Uncle Victor. When we chat. Which is rarely. But, these days, always something I look forward to. If only because they’re more forthcoming with the information than you, my mother, or most of my in-the-know friends. A girl likes to have someone tell her the damn poop and scoop once in a while, you know?”

“Ah, yeah. Okay.” Siler looked at Buchanan. “I see why they all think she’s just lucky.”

“Never make the mistake of thinking that I’m willing to insult Missus Chief, or have anyone else insult her to me, especially someone who’s not a close relative of her husband’s.” Buchanan’s voice was icy. “We’re not friends, you and I. I’m not betting we ever will be. She gets your respect or you get my boot up your ass.”

“Malcolm’s my favorite, in case anyone wasn’t clear.”

“I thought Len and Kyle were your favorites,” Jeff said, sounding worried.

“They’re my favorites, too. I have a lot of favorites.”

“And you wonder why I’m jealous,” Jeff muttered.

“You’re my most favorite. Does that help?”

Jeff grinned. “A little.” He kissed my cheek and nuzzled my ear. “A lot,” he purred. Did my best not to rub up against him, but it took effort.

“Do you two ever stop?” Christopher asked.

“No. Whine about it to Amy later. So, Nightcrawler, what’s the good, evil, and/or horrific word? We have a lot to get back to, including dealing with the Tastemaker, which I, personally, cannot wait for.”

Siler jerked. “Wait, what? What’s Jenkins doing sniffing around you?”

“Really? That’s what gets you? Some gossip columnist?”

Siler shook his head. “He’s more than that. Much more.”

“He in your line of work? Whatever that line or lines actually is, I mean?”

“No.” Siler took a step, and Prince took a leap. Siler was back against the wall, Prince’s forepaws on his chest, Prince’s growling, teeth-bared muzzle in his face. “Ah, a little help?”

“I’m with the dog,” Buchanan said. “Where were you planning to go just now?”

“Honestly, I just want to sit down.”

“Floor’s free,” Christopher offered, not at all nicely.

“He needs to check in,” Jeff said. “He’s late to do so, and he wants to tell those he’s checking in with about Jenkins’ interest in Kitty.”

In addition to people and a pet we loved, and all of our historical data, what Centaurion Division had also lost during Operation Infiltration was confidence. We’d been infiltrated and taken over, our people controlled, kidnapped, and murdered. Imageering and Field, which was made up mostly of empaths, had been severely hampered because of all the empathic inhibitors our enemies had come up with and whatever the hell they’d done to the digital airwaves to block the imageers.

Considering that up until then we’d felt pretty impregnable, and Hacker International had felt they’d had the best of the best computer security in place, being taken over as easily as we were was shattering.

So it was nice to hear Jeff interpreting emotions again. He’d done it less and less because he wasn’t trusting himself. Whatever else might come, Siler being here and giving Jeff a good emotions-reading workout was a good thing.

In the olden days—you know, a year ago—in the situation we were in, we’d have taken everyone to Dulce, gone into lockdown, and figured out what to do from there. Now, we were pretty much running lost and more than a little scared. It was an uncomfortable, unnatural feeling.

“Missus Chief, call your canine cohort off, please. He should stay ready, of course.”

“Of course. Prince, we’re going to let him sit on the floor. If he doesn’t sit, take him out.”

Siler shot me a dirty look, but when Prince went back to all fours, he sank back to the floor. “Thanks. Look, other . . . things . . . are going to happen if I don’t make contact.”

“Do we let him check in?” Christopher asked. “Or do we take him into custody?”

“I want to know exactly who he wants to check in with,” Buchanan said.

“I want to know what the other things are,” Jeff mentioned. “He’s stressed about them, but the what isn’t clear.”

“Where would we take him
to
?” Tito asked. “Someone who can go invisible can escape police custody.”

Something was nagging at me. “I have a question. I don’t know if anyone can actually answer it, but Nightcrawler, if you can, do me a solid and tell me the truth.”

He shrugged. “If I can.”

“Okay. Is what’s going on, all of it, designed to get us to do what we used to do, which would be to run to Dulce and go into lockdown?”

Siler’s eyes flicked to Jeff and back to me. “Yes.”

“Aha, you knew Jeff had already read your emotional answer.”

“Pretty much.”

“Whatever works. Okay, so here’s my follow up question. Why? Why are all of our enemies, and I guess some of our friends, trying to get us to grab everyone and go across the country? Is it to protect us? Or is it to herd us into one spot and conveniently get rid of all of us in one fell swoop?”

Siler opened his mouth and my phone rang. Heaved a sigh, dropped my Glock back into my purse, dug my phone out, and took a look. Recognized the number this time.

“Hello, how’s it going, Squeaky?”

“Squeaky?” Yep, it was my favorite Julia Child impersonator, otherwise known as Mrs. Nancy Maurer. “What in the world?”

“Squeaky?” Jeff asked quietly.

I shrugged to indicate that I wasn’t in a position to explain this to him. Tito grinned at me, then pulled Jeff and Christopher closer to Buchanan and Siler so he and Buchanan could quietly explain what the others had missed.

Buchanan tossed me his little phone-location-finder device thing. Plugged it in like a good girl as I continued on with my phone call. “It’s your new code name. I think it fits you. So, whassup?”

“How is it that you’re American Centaurion’s top lobbyist, let alone their head diplomat?”

“You know, I ask that question all the time. No one gives me an answer I can believe, and yet, here I am anyway. So, Squeaky, are you calling to ask for a donation, to shoot the breeze, or to relay information, threats, or requests for help?”

“I’m calling to ask you why your husband is going to be running for vice president. They wanted to hurt you all before, but now? Now I don’t know what they’ll do, but I guarantee it will be terrible.” She took a ragged breath and I realized she was crying.

“Are you alone?”

“Right now, yes. He’s not my son, not any more. I didn’t raise him to hate other people, let alone hurt them. His father would be devastated to see what his son is turning into, and nothing I do or say has any impact.”

“We’re talking about Cameron Maurer, right? Your son?”

“Y-yes.”

“When did he start acting . . . unlike himself?”

“Right after the invasion. He was so pro-alien before then, telling me all about the wonderful new world we’d see once all of your people were able to fully integrate into our society. And then, he took his family to Europe for a vacation and when he came back, he was this . . . this . . . hatemonger.”

“Does your son know you don’t approve of his, ah, change of heart?”

“Yes, but I gave up trying to change his mind months ago.”

“Yeah, I’ll bet. What about his wife and kids?”

“The children and Crystal are home in Cincinnati. Why?”

“Have they been any different?”

“Ah, well . . .”

“Cough it out there, Squeaky.”

“Fine,” she snapped. “I don’t care much for my daughter-in-law. She’s much more driven by the idea of being married to a powerful man than anything else. She seems much happier since they got back from Europe and my son . . . changed. My grandchildren are wonderful, of course.”

“Of course.” So, if what I was suspecting was true, Crystal Maurer wouldn’t know or care, or else she was in on it because she was a typical political virago. I’d ask Culver for her thoughts later, you know, whenever we got to reunite with everyone else again. Right now, my gut told me I had an old lady to save. “Where are you? Exactly, I mean.”

“I went out to get some fresh air, I mean, that’s what I told them, but I didn’t know where else to go or what else to do, so I went to the park.”

“And your son and whoever else working the campaign, they let you go there alone? No guards or anything?”

“Yes. I come here all the time. Usually alone. Again, why?”

“This city is lousy with parks, Squeaky. I need a park name, and the major cross streets wouldn’t hurt, either.”

“Why do you need to know where I am?” She sounded legitimately confused. It was sweet, in a scary way.

Thought about how to say this without panicking her. Decided to go for it. “Squeaky, I’d like to know how good you are at following directions.”

“Fair to middling, I suppose. Why?”

“Because I think you’re in danger. Or they’re using you to get to us, which means we’re in danger, too. But we’re far more used to danger than you are, I’d wager.”

“Should I call the police?”

Looked at Prince and decided I wouldn’t really be lying. “No. I’m about to bring the police to you. If, you know, you ever tell me where the hell you are.”

“I—”

“Squeaky?”

“Oh thank you so much for calling, dear. It was lovely catching up. I must dash now, though. I’ll see you soon, I hope.”

And with that, the phone went dead.