Alien Diplomacy

were using the Covert Ops entrance.
    I looked around as we inched along. It was a lovely hotel with, as Jeff had said, a million places to hide if you were an evil bad guy waiting to off someone.
    There were a lot of big men in dark suits with the plastic earbuds in their ears. There had been a ton of them outside, and there were even more inside, literally acting as human guide rails. They weren’t wearing sunglasses, but I got the impression they’d been told to take them off as opposed to having removed them willingly.
    The rest of our group was around us now, so the four of us were in the middle, meaning I could safely ask a question. “What’s with the extras from the Matrix look? There’s a lot of that in this town. And I didn’t know we had this many Secret Service in existence.”
    “These aren’t Secret Service,” Reader said. “I checked. Titan is providing the majority of the security personnel for this event.”
    “Well, that makes sense then. So, the various Goon Squads at the airport and chasing me and Richard the other evening were on Titan’s payroll.”
    “Probably,” Jeff said. “Now, can we stop the chatter? Just smile and wave.”
    We smiled and waved as appropriate as we edged inside. There were a lot of people, and it took a good long while to get to the main security checkpoint.
    There was a bank of metal detectors. The flyboys flashed their military Get Out Of Jail Free cards and were allowed to carry in their firearms. Sadly, this meant one gun each, with no extra clips.
    The rest of us sailed through without issue. It was so much nicer than one of our gates I actually enjoyed the experience. Then it was back in line, standing between two rows of yet more Titan Goons, to filter into the main room.
    It seemed to take forever, but we were finally in the ballroom. Mom might have wanted us all in early, and maybe she and Kevin had managed it, but there were tons of people in the room before us. It wasn’t packed yet, but based on the line that had been behind us, it would be soon.
    The room was a huge oval, with a number of support columns sprinkled around, making a slightly smaller oval. The stage, which was backed by the promenade area, sat at the middle of the fat part of the oval on the far side from where we’d come in. There wereextravagant buffet stations set up between the columns, with portable bars interspersed between them. Waiters cruised among the guests with trays of hors d’oeuvres and champagne.
    “Swanky. Figure the bad guys are disguised as wait staff,” I said quietly to Jeff.
    “Why would that be?” he asked as he scanned the room.
    “We seriously have to watch some TV that’s not like forty years old. Because it’s the easiest way to get access. And there are what looks like hundreds of staff in here.” And the Dingo and his ilk had no problem killing some innocent busboy and taking his place. Plus, since Titan was doing the security, that meant they’d likely let the Dingo through. I shared this thought with Jeff, who merely grunted. I got the impression he was having some empathic challenges with this particular crowd.
    This was truly a ball, so there was a large dance floor in the center of the room. Small tables clustered between it and the food and drink stations.
    I was fairly sure the President and First Lady were at the far end from us. This was based solely on the fact that I could spot the Secret Service agents. They looked different from the Titan guys—more normal and less goonish for a start. There were also a lot fewer of them, which, like so many other things, boded.
    There was also music playing. I was shocked and pleased that it was actually something that you’d hear on the radio—Bon Jovi’s “Who Says You Can’t Go Home.”
    Our entire contingent finally got inside. We clustered together near a table in the middle of the room. I noted that every other group seemed to be doing the same. This would have been okay if we weren’t trying to foil a bad-guy scheme, but since we were, it wasn’t our wisest plan.
    “We need to split up and start covering the room.”
    “I see Senator McMillan,” Caroline told me.
    “You and Michael head over to him, then.” She nodded and they wandered off. “Think the food or drink could be off?”
    Chuckie shook his head. “No, it’s tested before it comes out. All drinks are in bottles or cans before they’re put into the bars.”
    “But that just means that a waiter or bartender