The com turned on. “We’re ready, Chief,” Walter shared.
“Okay, girls, it’s show time. Remember that we’ll want to run back into the Embassy in case anything goes wrong. Inside, retreating, not going forward to attack.”
The princesses looked at the pictures Jeff and I were holding, and shapeshifted.
“We are clear on our required roles,” Rahmi said. “We are to smile and wave and then go back inside when you tell us to.”
“I love the sparkles,” Rhee added.
“Good. You two look great, just like the pictures. Walter, let’s activate Mission: Get Off My Lawn.”
With that, Jeff opened the door and we four stepped out.
The gasp from the crowd was audible. Because of my enhanced vision, I could see the huge floater gate that spanned the length of our facility. But no one on the street could.
The four of us waved to the crowd, which, true to expectations, surged toward us. Even the people at the tables with the petitions got up and came a’running.
As the first people hit the floater gate, they disappeared. But it was a big crowd, and we had people shoving in the back to get close enough to see if who they thought was standing with us were indeed two people thought long dead.
Proving that the human Curiosity Gene was much stronger than the human Common Sense Gene, in a matter of seconds, there was no one on the street. Trotted inside. “Okay, Walter, turn off the gate.”
“Off, Chief.”
The four of us used hyperspeed to grab the tables, chairs, and other paraphernalia left outside. We were back inside in under ten seconds and there was no trace of the mob left anywhere. Gave myself a virtual pat on the back.
“What do we do with all this crap?” Jeff asked.
“Keep the paperwork, we’ll want to look at it to see what they’re trying to do. Just leave the tables and chairs here. I’ll have the Operations Team get rid of them.”
Raj and Reader joined us in the foyer. “All protestors arrived safely and are accounted for,” Raj said.
“They’re also all under arrest,” Reader added with a grin. “Colonel Franklin said to tell you that he took pictures of their expressions, because he knew you’d appreciate them.”
“He rocks. Okay girls, you can change back now.”
Reader laughed. “Ronald Regan and Elvis. The reports on this should be great.”
“Yep. How to ensure your enemies sound like lunatic crackpots without really trying.”
“What if someone took pictures?” Jeff asked. “Imageering can’t alter them right now.”
“Colonel Franklin has confiscated all phones and cameras,” Raj said. “Since the protestors are being treated as terrorists.”
“Hey, not my fault those people managed to sneak onto Andrews Air Force Base en masse and threaten the U.S. Government.”
Reader put his arm around my shoulders as we headed off to get back to the real business of the day. “Girlfriend, I have to say it—I just love watching you work.”
CHAPTER 62
THE NEXT WEEK was spent getting ready for Michael’s funeral and our side’s answer to Operation Infiltration.
We’d used the excuse of religious necessities to explain why no one, Jeff in particular, was going to work until after the funeral. It seemed to work, in part because Oliver was fanning the media flames as promised, and much news coverage was being focused on how devastating this loss was to American Centaurion.
There were, of course, the opposing views, but thanks to the success of Mission: Get Off My Lawn, the opposition looked like the biggest bunch of dangerous wingnuts around, which helped Oliver’s efforts. Didn’t let it go to my head—one mission firmly in the win column did not an entire successful Operation make.
At Buchanan’s repeated insistence, Reader had assigned Field teams into the neighboring embassies and regular residences in our area. All these agents had supposedly passed their Anti-Mind Control Training. A handful of the embassies and regular folks refused to be occupied, so we and our friends in the D.C.P.D.’s K-9 division were watching them for signs of danger to the residents or anti-alien activity from said residents. The rest seemed relieved to have the extra protection, because no one had missed the excitement of the Mob O’ Losers.
Pierre had our personal fashion designer, Akiko, working on creating the appropriate “funeral attire” for all the female A-Cs of importance. This included women not involved in the actual operation, so Akiko was busy and had to get A-C assistance to have a hope of completing everything in time for the event, to the point of having her design studio and factory temporarily moved into the second floor of the Zoo.
Raj indeed had the Troubadour Connection. There were a lot of troubadours out there—more than I’d ever heard about—and they seemed almost pathetically eager to get to do some actual work. It was interesting, how shoved to the side these particular A-Cs were. Clearly Christopher’s views about troubadours were the dominant ones for the A-Cs of Earth. Wondered how much that had to do with the fact that King Adolphus of Alpha Four had been a troubadour.
In addition to the Dazzlers who were on Imitation Duty, we had some male troubadours who were going to add in, to cover effective confusion if needed and give us some more people to pretend to be Embassy staff.
Spent much time with my assigned imitator, Francine, who was from Euro Base. She was good and pretty much “got me” right away. She was even able to imitate my voice.
All the troubadours were practicing sounding like their assigned double, and most were really good at it. The gal imitating Serene, Nadine, was having the most trouble, but even she was pretty good after a few days of immersion.
Immersion had been hard on everyone, though, because it meant our assigned troubadours were eating, working, and hanging out with us. Jeff drew the line at sleeping with us, but other than that, each woman on Team Infiltration had a shadow.
Jamie and the other kids had really gotten into the whole “extra mommies and aunties” idea. I wasn’t sure if they understood what we were doing or not—though if forced I’d have voted for the idea that they did—but they were having a ball with it. Double the attention, double the fun seemed to be the kids’ motto. Part of me was tempted to have the kids go along to the funeral, but protective wisdom said they’d be much safer in the Embassy, so I didn’t suggest it.
“I really walk like that?” I asked Reader as Francine and Jeff strolled up and down in front of us in the ballroom, which was where our little team of me, Jeff, Francine, and Reader, who was our assigned “verifier,” were practicing this afternoon. We had a trial run scheduled for early evening, and every team was prepping because we only had a couple of days before the funeral and no one wanted to be on the team that fooled no one.
“Yeah, girlfriend, you do.”
“I accepted three years ago that I look like a cheetah on drugs when I’m running, but I had no idea my butt swayed that much when I was walking.”
“I think it’s sexy, baby,” Jeff said with a grin. “When you do it,” he added quickly, losing the grin in the process. “Right now, it’s just uncomfortable and awkward.”
“Thank you so very much,” Francine said, as she shot me a long-suffering look. “I’m going to be heavily veiled and we aren’t going to be expected to kiss during the event, so you can stop treating me as if I’m the mistress you don’t want to have.”
“I don’t want a mistress,” Jeff said. “I also don’t think this plan is going to work in reality.”