Alien Proliferation

up. “It’s the middle of the night.”
    “Situation is not here, sir. And, apologies, I was speaking to the other Commander Martini, former Commander Katt, now Missus Commander Martini.” Gladys had sarcasm available at any time of the day or night.
    “Oh. What’s up?”
    “Long distance call from Paris.” Paris was the hot epicenter for us today, apparently. Oh, well, at least it wasn’t Paraguay.
    “What’s wrong with cell phones or landlines?”
    “No idea, Commander. Shall I patch it through?”
    “Sure.”
    There was a lot of static on the line. “Kitty?” The voice was faint, but I’d known it a long time.
    “Ames? Amy, is that you?” Amy was one of my two best girlfriends from high school. She was a corporate lawyer living in Paris and working for a huge company. She also came from money. Charmed life was the phrase that leaped to mind when people talked about Amy. Cool, loyal friend was the phrase that leaped to mine.
    “Kitty.” She was crying. Amy never cried. She also was never dramatic, never sarcastic, never exaggerated, never impetuous, and never held a grudge. We were friends because, I guess, opposites attract. “Kitty, I need help.”
    Jeff pulled his clothes on. They were exactly like the clothes he’d had on this morning—black Armani suit, white shirt. In deference to the time and urgency, he passed on the tie. For any A-C, this represented that he was going casual .
    “Where are you?”
    “The Metro, Gare du Nord, near the trains. I have to get out of here. They’re going to kill me.”
    Well, that was dramatic.
    “Stay there,” Jeff barked. “I’ll be there in a minute.”
    “Is that Jeff?” Amy asked, sniffling. I waited for sarcasm or exaggeration, figuring we might get the trifecta tonight.
    “Yeah. He’s going to get you. Go to the women’s restroom near the main information desk and wait there, inside it.”
    “I’m sorry, I don’t think I heard you right. Where do you want me to go?”
    Jeff was on his cell. “Christopher, emergency. Need a gate to the Paris Metro, Gare du Nord, five minutes ago, need you, too. No, near our usual entry point, but closer to the main information desk.” He kissed me, and hypersped out of the room.
    “You heard right. Are you on a cell?”
    “No, payphone.” She was still crying. “Kitty, where do I go?” I repeated the directions, loudly and slowly. “Um . . . I know you do something weird now, but are you kidding me?”
    “No. Look, hurry, they’ll be there in a minute, maybe less.” The phone went dead. “Gladys?”
    “Believe the caller hung up, Commander. I’ve alerted Euro Base. They’re sending two teams to assist Commanders Martini and White.”
    “Thanks, Gladys. How did she get through to you?”
    “She called using an international emergency number.”
    “Huh. Um, I didn’t know we had such a number.”
    “ We don’t, Commander.”
    “Who does, Gladys? Tired, cranky, being kicked to death. Make it easy on me.”
    “United States agencies, Commander. Covert United States agencies.”
    “Ah. Okey-dokey. Thanks.”
    So, what the hell was Amy doing with a covert ops emergency number? And, point of concern, had she left the phone to run to the bathroom as instructed, or had she been snuffed?
    I tried not to think about that possibility. I also tried not to think about the fact that Jeff and I had had some wild sex in the same place he was going to be with Amy. He wasn’t the only one who had a few jealousy or confidence issues.
    Not that he had any real reason. He was the classic—tall, dark, wavy hair, light brown eyes, great features, killer smile—so handsome. And then there was his body. Broad shoulders, totally built, ripped, but not overly muscled like a bodybuilder, six-pack abs, awesome pecs and biceps, great legs, fabulous butt, hung like a horse. I hoped he’d get home soon. According to all the medical data, it was still safe to do the dirty deed. And, by now, I was ready. Of course, I was always ready. Any time I wasn’t, I just had to look at him and, presto, ready.
    Of course, I was still sort of surprised he was interested in sex with me at all any more. I looked like I’d stuck a tube up and inflated my stomach to clown-level proportions. The rest of me wasn’t totally porked out, but you sure couldn’t tell that I’d run track all through high school and college, nor that I could do any form of kung fu other than Cow Wallows in the Mud.
    Supposedly my skin was