Touched by an Alien

Christopher said, nodding toward my mother.
    Mom shrugged. “I wasn’t going to stand there and be an easy target.” She looked at me. “Nice new friends you’ve picked up. Homeland Security my ass.”
    “Nice gun you’ve picked up. Consultant my ass,” I shot back. Okay, so I decided to risk the smart mouth. I did live on my own, after all.
    She grinned. “I am a consultant.”
    “She just consults on counterterrorism,” Christopher added. He sounded impressed.
    We were back at the terminal, and I could see a lot of men in uniforms heading toward us. They weren’t universally handsome, which meant, I was pretty sure, we were in trouble. They all drew weapons.
    “How do we get out of this?”
    “You all shut up and let me handle it,” my mother snapped. “Put your hands up and stop running, now.”
    We did as she said as she stalked out to meet the oncoming throng, all of whom were pointing their guns right at us.
    “Federal officer!” my mother shouted, holding up something that looked like a thin wallet.
    “Federal officer?” I said under my breath. When had this happened?
    Reader was on my other side. “I told you it was an impressive file,” he whispered.
    Whoever was in charge came to my mother. None of their guns were down. “What’s going on?” he asked her.
    “I’m a federal officer, and if you don’t put those goddamned guns down right now, I’m going to make sure you all end up working night security at a Taco Bell.” My mother sounded both furious and completely in charge.
    The man shot a look at what she was holding up, nodded, and then lowered his gun. The rest of them did the same.
    “Holster your weapons!” Mom shouted. They all complied. I was impressed. Normally, I only saw her order me and my friends around like this.
    “What’s going on?” the man asked her again.
    “I’d love you to tell me,” Mom snarled. “We’re attacked and pursued by a terrorist faction, in the middle of JFK, after the government issued a level-red security threat, no less, and it takes you, what, thirty minutes to get your act together and come out to support? I want names, job histories, and excuses, in writing, on my desk tomorrow morning. You and your so-called team there might also want to spend some time praying you have good answers as to why your response time was so slow.”
    She jerked her head forward. “My team, roll out. We’re needed back at Headquarters. Remember,” she snapped at the leader of airport security, “on my desk by oh-nine-hundred tomorrow, or you’re all fired, without review.”
    With that, she stalked off, marching right through the guards, all of whom let her pass. The rest of us scurried after her. I hoped we looked official, but Mom’s little rant had apparently done the trick. We weren’t held up.
    We got inside the airport again, marching through as though we had somewhere very important to go. I wondered just how much of a letdown “destination bathroom” was going to be after all this.
    Christopher caught up with my mother, but we didn’t go to any of the restrooms. Instead, we headed outside, to a taxi stand. I noted that one of the agents I didn’t know was carrying luggage, my mother’s if memory served.
    We waited about three seconds, and then two gray limos pulled up. The agent put Mom’s bags in the trunk of the first one, Christopher did his doorman thing, and Mom got in, followed by me, Martini and Gower. I made sure to be in the back facing front again, and Martini made sure he was next to me. Reader kicked the driver out of his seat, and Christopher took shotgun. We were rolling within thirty seconds. I looked behind us—the rest of the crew were in the second limo, following us.
    “Well, that was fun,” I said. “Now, who wants to go first and tell me what the hell is going on … Mom?”

CHAPTER 11
    MOM LEANED BACK IN THE SEAT . “This thing equipped with anything to drink?” she asked Gower.
    He nodded, and Martini pulled out a bottle of Coke. “Straw?”
    “Sure, thanks,” Mom said. “I was hoping for something stronger, of course.”
    “Not safe yet, no need to be impaired,” Gower said.
    “I want some answers,” I said again. “Like right now. Mom, what is this, welcome to my secret life?”
    She sighed. “I didn’t want you to know until you were old enough.”
    “I’m twenty-seven. When did you think I’d be old enough, when I was forty?”
    “Maybe.” She smiled. “Your father doesn’t really