Alien in the House

like an obstacle course, too. It was impossible to go in a straight line from the elevator to any table beyond about one. There were a lot of people to get past and tables to wind through before I could reach my husband and my seat.
    We’d assigned Embassy and Centaurion Division personnel to each table, so our team was spread out, some with only their spouse or date, some with a wingman, but none of the tables were all A-C only.
    “We’re going to weave through, being sure to hit every table,” Raj said quietly to me. “Len, Kyle, once we’re talking to the first table, you two find your seats.” The boys looked at me.
    “Why?” I didn’t want to hit every table. I wanted to get to my husband, smile, and not spill anything on me or anyone else.
    “We’re late so you have an opportunity to say hello to everyone you might have missed at the reception. Trust me, this will ensure no one minds that they’re waiting for you.”
    “Works for me. Boys, do what Raj says.”
    “You’ll thank me later,” Raj said with a chuckle. With that, he put on a beaming smile, offered his arm, which I wisely took, and we stepped out.
    First table was headed by Tito and Abigail, who had a bunch of people I didn’t know with them. They were also sitting across from each other, presumably so they could cover more diplomatic ground. This boded, and not well, for where I was going to end up sitting. Whenever we reached my seat. Did a fast count of the number of tables in the room. It was gonna be a while before Raj or I sat down.
    “So sorry we were delayed,” Raj said to the guests at this table. “Ambassador Katt-Martini wanted to ensure that the dinner will be perfect.”
    I smiled brightly. “It will be. Chef says all’s well in hand and you’re going to love the meal.” It was a safe bet that whoever was running things went by the term and I could get away without saying a last name, indicating the sex of the unnamed kitchen whiz, or sharing I had no idea who was actually in charge downstairs.
    The guests all beamed right back, Tito nodded, and Abigail gave me a thumbs-up where no one could see. Apparently I was, for once, getting Good Wife and Ambassador Points. I decided that I loved Raj.
    We snaked our way through the room, never missing a table, laughing and chatting with everyone along the way. Raj ensured he was never more than one person away from me, so he was always nearby to fix any slips. By midway through the room we’d passed the majority of the guests I didn’t know at all or know well.
    Which meant we were getting closer to the people I did know and who would, therefore, be not only watching me closely but be ready to comment on any mistakes I might make. Goody.
    My parents were hosting folks from the Bahraini and Israeli Embassies, or as I preferred to call them, my Middle Eastern Contingent. To the rest of the room, this was a high-pressure assignment filled with diplomatic intricacies, and any missteps would result in, at best, another war in the Middle East.
    In reality, these people all got along now, in great part because of how Operation Destruction had gone down. In other words, Mom and Dad had scored the cool table with no actual stress or pressure involved. Wondered if it was too late to ask to sit with my parents. Figured it was. Always the way.
    I kissed my mother on her cheek, and did the same with Mona Nejem, the wife of the Bahraini ambassador, and someone who was now second only to Olga in terms of ambassadorial spouses I loved and trusted.
    Got introduced to Mona’s husband, as well as the Israeli ambassador and her husband. Khalid was next to Mona—he was to her as Buchanan, Len, and Kyle were to me. Oren and Jakob were here, too, as was a young woman I’d never met before who, like them, looked to be in her mid-twenties.
    Leah was sitting between Oren and Jakob, so I assumed she was with the Israelis, and, therefore, with Mossad, just like they were. We had the head of the P.T.C.U., Bahraini Army, and Mossad representing, all sipping their water and fruit juice cocktails while at the same time keeping their eyes on every part of the room. This was, without a doubt, the safest and deadliest table we had.
    Len and Kyle were at a nearby table with Olga and the rest of the Romanian Embassy personnel and some of our closer neighbors. As with my parents, they had a low-stress table. Same with Lorraine and Claudia, who, with their husbands, were each hosting nice people at their