Alien Collective Read Online Free Page A

congressman and your boss?”
    This was starting to bode more than it already had. The congressman was my husband, and Len and Kyle’s boss was Charles Reynolds, aka the head of the C.I.A.’s Extra-Terrestrial Division and my best guy friend since ninth grade. Of course, Chuckie worked with Jeff all the time. Maybe I was worried for nothing.
    “Yes,” Len replied. “They’re with the rest of Alpha Team, the head of the P.T.C.U., the head of Special Immigration Services for Homeland Security, and the head of the FBI’s Alien Affairs Division.”
    So much for that worried for nothing idea. Things were definitely serious if my mother was involved. Because, as I’d learned only about four and a half years ago, my mother wasn’t just a consultant, she was
the
anti-terrorism consultant and the head of the very kick-butt and also very clandestine Presidential Terrorism Control Unit. Meaning if the P.T.C.U. was involved, things were likely to be looking grim. That combined with Clifford Goodman and Evander Horn, from Homeland Security and the F.B.I. respectively, being with Jeff and Chuckie boded. A lot. The fact that Buchanan and Len were using official titles versus everyone’s names boded more. Tried not to worry. Failed.
    “Fine. Okay, Missus Chief, we got a tip that the anti-Cleary-Maurer rally was going to be a target of attack from our favorite homegrown terrorists.”
    “You mean Club Fifty-One and the Church of Intolerance were going to share their version of righteous wrath while at the same time coming out in total favor of the Hate Party Ticket?”
    “Yes. And, unsurprisingly, American Centaurion personnel were presumed to be the targets.”
    I was good with catching words that shouldn’t belong. “Presumed. So,
were
we targets, or were we hustled off by the police to get us out of the way so we didn’t become targets?”
    “In part, yes. To both questions. However—”
    Took the leap. “However, the rally was a great time to presume that most of our staff would be elsewhere and therefore they tried to attack our Embassy. Which has really nifty invisible shielding, I’m forced to mention.”
    “It also has tunnels leading into it,” Buchanan said. “Evacuation was deemed necessary—evacuation of everyone, Walter included—and our good friend the Ambassadress,” he nodded toward Mona, “offered the safety of her embassy.”
    “So, was the rest of our area evacuated or just us? And where are my dad and our Embassy Animals?” We had my parent’s four dogs and three cats, two dozen Alpha Four Royal Peregrines, and more Royal Poofs than you could count in a day. That was a lot of fur and feathers I wanted to remain intact and safe. Not to mention my father, who was both a history professor on sabbatical from Arizona State University and, naturally for my life, a secret cryptologist for NASA. What Dad wasn’t, though, was a kick-butt type.
    My phone rang before anyone could answer. In part because I was in the Female Standard Issue Clothing—white Armani oxford shirt, black Armani slim skirt, and black Aerosole pumps—and in part because of all the “fun” at the protest, my purse was hooked over my neck, which was why I hadn’t lost it during all the brouhaha. Considered taking it off while I dug around for my phone and decided to stick with the likely idea that I’d need its contents sooner as opposed to later.
    Pulled my phone out on the third ring and took a look. Blocked number. This usually indicated I was getting a chatty call from someone trying to kill me or other people I cared about.
    “Answer it, on speaker,” Buchanan said quietly.
    Did as requested. “Hello?”
    “Ambassador?” Wasn’t a voice I recognized. It was high-pitched.
    “Maybe. Who’s this?”
    “Ambassador Katt-Martini of American Centaurion?”
    “Could be, could be. Who are you?”
    “A friend.” Still high-pitched. Faked, for certain. Sounded like someone trying to imitate Julia Child. Meaning it was