“Stop it,” White said calmly. Christopher looked sulkily at his father. Who was apparently having none of it. “No one is going to allow anyone to land on this planet without vetting them first. We have allies here who are more than capable of doing that vetting, including Jeffrey and every other empath on the planet. Your sulking about not getting included in Kitty’s entourage is embarrassing.”
“Is that it?” Chuckie asked, as Christopher had the grace to look embarrassed. “We need you here, with Jeff, for a variety of reasons, but the main one being that I just don’t want one of our best secret weapons far away from the President.”
Christopher perked up at this. “Secret weapon?”
Chuckie didn’t roll his eyes but I knew he wanted to. “No one moves faster than you. If there’s an attack on the President or any other official, who is the person most likely able to save them? You. If we need to evacuate, who is the person we all want everyone else linking to? You. Our enemies seem unaware of how fast you can move, and even if they know, there’s not a lot they can do to stop you.”
“Short of tossing out a bucket of glue in his path. Or flypaper.”
“Hilarious, Kitty.” Chuckie turned back to Christopher. “You’ve somehow managed to avoid the same level of scrutiny that Jeff, Kitty, Paul, and several others have, and even if the press knows about you, they can’t see you if you’re moving fast, let alone at your top speed. Why in the world would I want the fastest man on the planet far away from the most likely target we’ve got for attempted assassination? The Secret Service are fine. They’re not A-Cs. And the other A-Cs aren’t you.”
Christopher seemed mollified. “Why am I still assigned to the Embassy, then?”
“What part of ‘secret weapon’ didn’t you catch? If you’re assigned to the Embassy, the assumption is that you will be there. Meaning no one’s prepared for you to be wherever we actually need you to be. And,” Chuckie added, “you’re still needed at the Embassy. That we feel you can manage to do both jobs is a compliment, not an insult.”
“Yeah, okay. And I’m sorry. I’m just worried and not feeling at all trusting about anyone in any of those ships, let alone those in the Z’porrah ship.”
“Caution is wise,” Wruck said. “But caution and hatred are not the same things. If we’re correct and those in the Z’porrah ship are coming to Earth as refugees, then they aren’t our enemies.”
“In fact, there’s a good chance they’re our friends.” We were outside of the LSR now. “And, Christopher, trust me—I’m not going to let anyone get Becky any more than I’ll let them get Jamie or Charlie. Or any of the other kids, talented or not.”
Christopher didn’t look convinced. “I remember how many times they’ve tried to get Jamie. And the other hybrid kids. And Lizzie. They want our children, Kitty.”
“I know. But what they want and what they’ll get are two very different things. Despite our track record, I realize the temptation is to lock everyone in a Centaurion base and just hide. But that doesn’t work anymore.”
“And hasn’t worked for quite a while,” Chuckie said quietly.
Took his hand and squeezed it. No one said anything else, though. Two of the Gower siblings, Michael and Naomi, had both been killed because it had turned out that we hadn’t been safe in our bases. Gladys Gower had died because of that, too. And Chuckie and Naomi had only been married six months when she’d died.
Or, rather, when everyone other than me thought she’d died. Naomi had ingested so much Surcenthumain—what I called the Superpowers Drug, which had been created by our enemies to use against us and everyone else—that she’d literally become a superconsciousness. But the other older and more powerful superconsciousnesses out there—some of which we’d had the “pleasure” of meeting—had decreed that she couldn’t come back to Earth and couldn’t let on that she was still alive in a very different way than she’d been before.
However, Naomi was watching over us, in every universe where we existed. I’d learned this during Operation Bizarro World. Jamie knew Naomi was out there, too, I was pretty darned sure. The Jamie in Bizarro World had certainly known, and she’d said they all knew to call on Auntie Mimi for help.
But Chuckie and the remaining Gowers couldn’t know Naomi was still out there somewhere. Because the Gowers might and Chuckie would spend all their time trying to find her. And that way led to nothing but heartbreak and the wasting of lives. And we’d had enough of that already to last several lifetimes.
“I’m sorry,” Wruck said quietly. He’d been undercover with the Mastermind and his cronies when Operation Infiltration went down. He hadn’t been with LaRue when she’d murdered Michael, nor had he been around when Naomi had taken the Surcenthumain. But that didn’t mean that he, like the rest of us, didn’t wonder what he could have done differently.
Chuckie nodded. “I know. We all are. But that doesn’t change anything.”
“No,” White said gently, “it doesn’t. The dead are at peace. It’s the living we need to protect.”
“And watch,” Christopher added.
“Vigilance will be our watchword, Christopher, I promise.” My phone rang before I could say anything else. And my phone tended to ring at inopportune moments when it was one of our many enemies calling to share the wonder that was their insanity.
CHAPTER 11
PULLED MY PHONE OUT of the back pocket of my jeans—sure, I was the FLOTUS now, and also sure we’d been in a high-powered meeting and all that jazz, but I’d chosen comfort over conformity today.
Took a look to see if I was going to be staring once again at unfamiliar digits. Thankfully, and surprisingly, the call wasn’t from an anonymous number. “Hey, Squeaky, what’s up?”
Squeaky was the nickname I’d given to Nancy Maurer during Operation Defection Election. She had a very squeaky voice I’d thought was faked when we’d first interacted. It wasn’t fake, and circumstances being what they were, we’d ended up saving her life and, ultimately, her son’s life, too, though he was now an in-control android. We’d also rescued her grandchildren from their mother, who had apparently willingly become an android herself. Due to all of this, Mrs. Maurer had ended up as my First Lady’s White House Social Secretary. Conventionality was not our watchword.
Hearing it was someone we knew who made sense to be calling me—versus the Standard Opening Gambit Call from one of our many crazed enemies—Jeff gave me a quick kiss on my cheek, indicated to Siler, Buchanan, and Wruck that he wanted them with him, then he and the other men headed back inside to presumably start sharing the wonder that was heading our way. I stepped away from the door just to be polite.
“Madam First Lady, I need you to come to your office as soon as possible.” I had my own staff and, unlike Walter, they accepted that I hated titles and only wanted them used when necessary, when giving clues to each other, or when tossing our weight around. Meaning something was up. Or I’d screwed up. Either option was likely.
“Why? Crap, have I forgotten a meeting or something?”