Of course, when you considered the company Somerall tended to keep, perhaps he was the best choice of the bunch, which was a textbook example of damning with faint praise.
Behind him stood a taller, thin man, with thinning light-brown hair and glasses. He was sort of stooped. It made him look both somewhat unassuming and also kind of creepy. From what Amy had told me, the unassuming part was an act, but Quinton Cross had creepy down to an art form.
Cross smiled. It was, like the rest of him, both unassuming and creepy. Moved him higher up on my Latest Enemies Trying to Destroy Us list. “As Ansom said, of course it’s fortunate, Ambassador. We have a mutually beneficial proposal to discuss.”
“Really? And you think right now—when I’m out with my daughter and clearly already occupied with my friends and Embassy staff—is the appropriate time? Especially since I was under the impression you were supposed to be having a meeting with someone else associated with our diplomatic mission—Amy Gaultier-White.”
That meeting was why Amy wasn’t with us at breakfast. Wanted to send her a text and make sure she was okay but couldn’t really take my focus away from the Land Sharks.
Standing just a little apart from the men was an attractive woman in her mid-forties. She hadn’t seemed fazed by Somerall’s come-ons, or Cross’ creepiness, so either she was used to them, or they didn’t bother her. Maybe both, but I figured on the former.
Janelle Gardiner had her long, dark hair done up and was in all green. Wasn’t sure if she was matching her eyes today or if green was “her color.” People in D.C. seemed big on the “your color” idea. Based on my experience in this town, I pegged her as the likely Brains Behind the Posturing Sharks.
These three were the power on the Gaultier Enterprises board and were the main people Amy was fighting for control of the company her father had built. If they were here, looking for me, they weren’t here for a social call.
Gardiner shook her head. “That meeting was rescheduled because of this new issue. It’s time-sensitive, Ambassador. We’d never disturb you without an appointment, otherwise.” She smiled. “Lillian Culver would never let me live it down.”
Lillian Culver was the top lobbyist for some of the biggest defense contractors, including but not limited to Titan Security. She and I weren’t friends but, thanks to my “uncles” the assassins, we now had a good working relationship based on the fact that Culver knew that if she really went against me, those “uncles” would kill her and her husband, Abner Schnekedy, without a moment’s hesitation or remorse. As I’d learned early, it was good to have friends in both the high and the low places.
Looked around. “Where is Lillian? Since you’re dropping her name to get me to chummy up and all that.” I wasn’t asking because I liked Culver, but this was the kind of group I expected her to be at least ushering around.
“She’s at the Capitol,” Gardiner said. “Doing her job.” Which probably meant pressuring my husband to do something against our better interests. So that was business as usual.
Managed not to ask how Gardiner knew what Culver was up to. Gaultier Enterprises wasn’t a defense contractor of any kind, but their ties with Titan ran deep, and if you were in with one big defense firm, you were also in with Lillian Culver.
Of course, after Operation Assassination, Titan should have been out of business permanently. But as I’d also learned early, evil never truly died, and Titan was back in the game. They weren’t quite back to what they’d been when Antony Marling had been alive and in charge, but their future was again looking bright.
And the man who’d brought Titan back from the dead and into that brave new world of financial success and government love was now stepping forward, the better to give me a friendly grin I didn’t buy for a New York Minute.
Of course, him stepping forward meant that Kyle felt it was time to stand up. Len followed suit.
“Ambassador, we haven’t met, I’m—”
“Thomas Kendrick. I know. We get the papers at the Embassy.” And Chuckie had done his best to make sure every single person in the Embassy could recognize these people on sight. Even I, who admittedly hadn’t really read these specific briefing materials, knew who Kendrick and the rest were. Sure, I knew them because Len had told me who they were just now, but now that he had, my memory had happily shared some facts.
“I’m flattered,” Kendrick said politely. He eyed the boys. “I can assure you, the Ambassador is in no danger.”
Kendrick was former military, and it showed. He had that crisp, buttoned-down, and above all, intense look that a lot of former military possessed. We had a lot of military working with us, and even my flyboys, who were considered the biggest jokers around, could pull off this look in a nanosecond if it was called for. Maybe it was something you learned in basic training or officer’s school. But whatever it was, Kendrick had it in spades.
Kendrick’s father was an American former Marine and his mother was Vietnamese, so Kendrick was also quite good looking. He’d been appointed into Titan by the Department of Defense, and that meant he might be good on the inside as well as the outside. But I doubted it. In my world—the one where people tried to kill or control me and everyone I loved on a regular basis—anyone high up in these three companies was automatically suspect until proven to be Evil Incarnate. So far, that viewpoint had never been wrong.
“Then it won’t matter that we’re standing up just like you, will it?” Len asked mildly. Kyle shifted so he was directly between the Land Sharks and Jamie. Noted that Naomi was texting, but other than being happy that one of us could multitask right now, wasn’t sure that this was going to help.
Kendrick shrugged. “Suit yourselves. Ambassador, if we could speak with you privately, that would be best.”
Wondered if Len and Kyle were having Operation Destruction flashbacks right about now and figured they were. Me, I simply braced myself for more doctored dirty pictures and forged ahead. “Would it? Then I guess you should have made an appointment. Right now, if you want to talk, we’re doing it here, in front of everyone. But I do have a question—how did you know I’d be here?”
The last man standing was Amos Tobin, the person now in charge of all of YatesCorp or, as I thought of it, the House That Mephistopheles Built. He’d only recently been appointed to run things by the YatesCorp Board—they, like Gaultier, had taken their sweet time about choosing the official successor to Ronald Yates. Even before he’d joined with the Mephistopheles parasite, Yates had been a tough act to follow, especially if you were into evil plotting and so forth.
Tobin was a mogul in his own right—he’d run a variety of successful businesses, including starting several successful fast-food franchises. Before YatesCorp he’d also successfully dabbled in companies focused on publishing, music, and art. So he had the bona fides for the job.
He was a nice-looking, middle-aged black man, just starting to show some paunch around the middle. Unlike the others, though, Tobin was going for a more folksy look. Oh, sure, he was still dressed in the standard suit and tie, but it wasn’t D.C. standard. He was in black on black, with a Stetson, bolo tie, and cowboy boots, all in black as well. It looked good on him, in a sort of Southern Godfather way, but I prepared myself for the inevitable bad joke.