“Drive,” Len snarled. “If you run them down, too damn bad.”
“Len, that’s not right. They may be loons but we don’t want to hurt them.”
“I’m not willing to run people over,” our driver added. He was the same guy who’d taken the limo off to be “washed.”
“The hell with your delicate sensibilities,” Len said calmly, but with authority I was more used to hearing from Chuckie versus the boys. “I’m giving this order as C.I.A. You will get the Ambassador out of here, now, or I will shoot you in the head.” His gun, which he and Kyle both wore in shoulder holsters, was out and pointed at the driver’s head.
“Len, are you okay?”
“Yes. I’m just not willing for you or Jamie to be hurt because we’re trying to protect a bunch of assholes who would kill you without remorse.”
“I’m with Len,” Kyle said. “And I can overpower you, Kitty. If I have to.”
“Okay, no worries. Drive us out of here, damn the torpedoing lunatics, full speed ahead. And all that.”
Our driver floored it and, amazingly enough, people scattered. There were a lot of them on the streets, and I noted that the church wackos were adding in, presumably working on The More Loons The Merrier Plan.
“What’s your name?” I asked our driver, more to try to keep things sort of pleasant, since Len hadn’t put his gun away.
“Burton Falk. I work with Mister Buchanan. I’m not the Ambassador’s enemy.” We weren’t going that fast, but we were going fast enough that we were moving through the throng.
“Get her home safely and we’ll discuss it,” Len said. “With you and Mister Buchanan, if necessary.”
“Burt, the boys are just a little tense. Being chased by mobs all over the place tends to do that to a person.”
Falk turned onto a main street, and we lost most, though not all, of the protestors. “I understand. You realize that if we ran anyone over it would create incredibly bad publicity?”
“Let me explain how much the C.I.A.’s Extra-Terrestrial Division cares about bad publicity when faced with the option of one of the highest ranking A-Cs being in extreme physical danger,” Len said “It’s a short explanation.”
“We don’t give a f—, ah, crap,” Kyle said.
“Nice save, Kyle. Look, Burt, the boys just want proof we’re all really on the same side. So, let’s get home and we can all have a Coke and a smile and laugh about this.” We were clear of people with signs, which was nice. Wasn’t sure if they would be waiting for us when we got home, but we’d worry about it in a couple minutes.
“Ha ha ha,” Falk said. “This is me laughing in a relaxed manner.”
“Wow, did Malcolm request mouthy agents or am I just that kind of lucky?”
Falk grinned. “Mister Buchanan requested agents who are able to, and I quote, ‘both give it and take it from the Ambassador, who is a lot like her mother, particularly in the ball-busting category.’ So, it’s a request and you’re that lucky.”
“Gosh, I hope you’re really on our side, because I like you already.”
Falk was a good driver, though I felt Len was better. As Len had on the way out, he didn’t take a direct route home. In fact, he took a circuitous route that took a good half an hour, meaning while I should have been early for Jeff’s lunch thing, I was probably going to be late. It so figured. But since I’d already texted William that I was okay, I sent another text sharing that we’d be late. Then a few more random ones just because I wanted to pay him back for the sarcasm from earlier.
Amazingly enough, there were no protestors in the street when we finally got in sight of the Embassy, and we got into the garage without incident.
The A-Cs who’d been with Falk the first time were waiting for us in the garage, which was weird but I chose not to mention it because I wasn’t sure I wanted to have another round of verbal sparring with Falk—Len still had his gun out.
“Mister Buchanan needs us all, right now,” one said to Falk, who nodded.
“See you and ‘the boys’ around, Ambassador.” Falk and his three A-Cs zipped off.
“Officially, on record, I don’t like him,” Len said as he holstered his gun.
“Me either,” Kyle added as he holstered his. I hadn’t realized Kyle had had his gun out, which was impressive on his part and par for my not-noticing-some-important-things course.
“You two are just transferring your feelings about Malcolm onto Burt.”
“No. I don’t like him for himself,” Len said.
“Ditto,” Kyle chimed in. “But whatever. Let’s get Jamie up to daycare, where it’s actually safe.”
The Embassy Daycare center was on the fourth floor, so we zipped upstairs. Dropped Jamie off with lots of hugs and kisses, and filled Denise Lewis, who ran the center, in on what had transpired, while Len and Kyle went and got our pets.
Jamie insisted that all the dogs and cats had to be with her in daycare, so the cats had their own Feline Winnebago, which was a converted, enclosed, rather large red wagon. The Poofs traveled with the cats, and sometimes on the dogs’ backs. I was fairly sure each dog and cat had at least one Poof they called their own. But Poofs for everyone and more Poofs for me was my motto, so it was all good.
That done, told the boys to have a little down time to relax, and I headed off to find the meeting I was supposed to be attending. Considered going upstairs and changing clothes, or at least brushing my hair, but William had said that Jeff had said that the politicians coming were all friends, and our friends were certainly used to seeing me in jeans and an Aerosmith shirt.
Realized I had no idea where Jeff was holding this meeting. It could be in our apartment, for all I knew. “Com on.”
“Yes, Ambassador?”
“William, where am I supposed to find my main man and his lunchtime cronies?”
William chuckled. “In the kitchen, Ambassador. They just arrived a few minutes ago, so you haven’t missed anything important, I’m sure.”
“Oh, what a relief that is.”
Headed down to the first floor, using hyperspeed and the stairs so that, should Christopher be in the meeting, I could confirm that I was practicing all the time, everywhere. I sometimes got tired of being chastised for having the nerve to use the elevator, and after this morning I knew I wouldn’t have the grace to handle said chastising well, so chose discretion as the better part of valor.
The first floor, being the main entryway and therefore the place the most people who weren’t part of American Centaurion in some way would come in, had the most normal stuff in it. Offices, dining room, kitchen, and some small parlors and salons. No one was in any of the rooms as I went by, meaning they were likely all in the kitchen. This meeting seemed a lot more important all of a sudden.
As I neared the kitchen I heard voices. “. . . been quiet for the past few months.” A voice I didn’t recognize. Supposedly the politicians here were all friends, but I knew our friends’ voices.
“That doesn’t mean plans aren’t forming, it just means we haven’t spotted what they are.” That was a voice I recognized without trying—Chuckie was here. Know a guy since the first day of ninth grade, know his voice at any time. “Sir, I don’t want to sound negative, but you need to consider the ramifications of what you’re suggesting.”
Sir? Chuckie almost never called anyone “sir.” Wondered if I had time to go up and change into the Female Armani Standard Issue.
Someone’s head popped around the door. Jeff’s head, to be exact. He smiled. “You look great as always, baby. Come on, you’re just in time.”
“Just in time for what?”
“Just in time to meet the head of the F.B.I.’s newly created Alien Activities Division.”