Alien Diplomacy

hyperspeed out of there?”
    “Jeff, I’m with Mister Joel Oliver.” I also didn’t want to test my hyperspeed control when I had Jamie, not to mention the others. I’d hit a couple of walls already, and while I had the snazzy fast A-C healing, it still hurt like hell. Now wasn’t the time to slam other people into brick, let alone risk my daughter.
    “I don’t care anymore. I want you and Jamie back in the Embassy where it’s safe.”
    “Wouldn’t have been safe if we’d brought that bomb back with us.”
    “Good point. Look, get out of there. That’s the overriding direction from me, Reynolds, and all of Alpha Team.”
    It was odd to hear that directive and not be one of the people making the decision. However, now wasn’t the time for sulking. Now was the time for speedy casual walking—people on the streets were starting to notice us, particularly because there was car debris right where we were standing. “Dudes, we need to get our little flock out of this part of Dodge. MJO, you have a ride we can borrow?”
    He shook his head. “I don’t think we want to take the chance.”
    “Public transpo it is. Jeff, tell Chuckie his people should carefully find Mister Joel Oliver’s car and check it out, too, just to be safe.”
    “Fine, where should we meet you?”
    “Go back to the Embassy. Send a team or two to check out the remains and protect Chuckie’s people. We’re going to do what normal people do and take the bus.” We headed off at a much faster stroll than we’d used to get here.
    “Stay on the phone with me.”
    “I kind of have my hands full.” I tried to send an emotional signal that I didn’t want to have to share more with Oliver than I had to. I wasn’t sure if I was doing it right—exploding cars tended to shake me up for some reason.
    Jeff sighed. “Got it. I understand, you don’t want to give away more than we already have to the so-called journalist.”
    “You mean the guy who’s clearly right?”
    “Yes, yes, Reynolds seems to think he’s worth listening to.”
    “He’s the reason we’re alive.”
    “Fine, fine. I hate this,” he muttered.
    “I know. Me too.” It wasn’t the danger. It was the fact that we weren’t able to do what we both wanted. In the good old days of three months ago, Jeff would already be here, our people would be cleaning up the scene, and we’d be off kicking butt and taking names. Now? Now we had to play pretend because there were a lot of people hiding in the shadows in D.C., literally and figuratively, and Jeff and I were no longer shadowy figures working in the background—we were the faces of American Centaurion.
    “I love you, baby. Be careful.”
    “I love you, too, and we will be.” We hung up, and I took a deep breath. “Do you boys know where a bus stop is?”
    “Really? We’re taking the bus?” Kyle sounded shocked.
    “I have no better plan for how we’re going to get back to the Embassy.”
    “Taxi?” Len suggested.
    Oliver and I exchanged another look. “Do you want to do the honors or shall I?” he asked politely.
    “I’ll cover it. Dudes, you know all those conspiracy theories Chuckie undoubtedly drilled you on?” The boys nodded. “He’s never wrong. So whatever he told you about exists, and therefore all the techniques to avoid capture he likely taught you need to be something you’re taking very seriously. Also, someone’s just tried to kill us. They either used a timer or they were watching us and decided we were clued in, hit the super-duper send button, and gave us a big, noisy message. In case the latter option is what’s going on, the next assumption you make is that any taxi stopping for you is driven by one of the bad guys.”
    “Like in the movies?” Len asked skeptically.
    “Just like. In all my time with American Centaurion, though, I’ve never, ever seen anyone take a bus. Ipso facto, we take a bus, we’re reasonably safe.”
    The boys didn’t look convinced, but they didn’t argue, either. Len pulled up the bus routes on his cell phone and we walked on.
    “We’re a few blocks away from a bus stop,” Len said uncertainly. “But I don’t think it’s a route that’ll take us back to the Embassy.”
    He showed his phone to me. “Dude, I’m clueless here, still. The streets confuse the hell out of me.” They did. Pueblo Caliente, Arizona, where I’d been born and raised, was set up on a nice grid system. It made the streets less “interesting,” but it was hard