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us during the gigantic alien invasion.
    Rajnish Singh, our Embassy Public Relations Minister, and Pierre Duchamps, our Embassy Concierge Majordomo got out of squad cars number five and six respectively. They were ushering the kids from Embassy Daycare. Did a fast headcount—yes, all the kids. This was boding. Or else we were having a giant kegger no one had told me about. I went with precedent and figured on the former. They, like the rest of those in the cars, were hurried inside the embassy by Len, Kyle, and the police officers.
    Amazingly, I didn’t see any evidence of Hacker International or anyone else I wouldn’t have expected to be here anyway. I was shocked that not every, single solitary person I knew was here. Maybe they were coming in their own police vans and were delayed by traffic.
    “Malcolm, seriously, it’s like we’re at a surprise party or something.”
    He sighed. “In a way, you’re right.”
    “Wow. Cryptic. Not a help, mind you, but cryptic nonetheless.”
    “Let’s get inside, Missus Chief. All will be explained shortly.”
    “I guess I should be glad we’re at Mona’s embassy instead of at police headquarters.”
    “No,” Buchanan said darkly. “You should be glad you’re in a safe location as opposed to being dead.”
    Let that sit on the air for a bit. “You mind explaining that?”
    “No, but not here.” And with that Buchanan took my arm and, accompanied by Prince, we headed into the Bahraini embassy.



CHAPTER 4
     
    F ROM THE OUTSIDE, the Bahraini embassy was nothing much to look at. The inside, however, was very different.
    Romania’s entryway was very Old World Austere, but it’s upper levels were Old World Homey. Our entryway was basically plain, if you ignored the marble floors, because our first floor was where we did all the “human” things. That’s where the kitchen, dining room, and a lot of offices were, so our entryway led into a long hallway. Once inside, our Embassy was basically Upscale Model Home.
    The Bahraini embassy’s entryway was opulent and beautiful. It looked almost like you were entering a very expensive luxury hotel lobby—the kind regular people can’t afford to enter, let alone stay at. There were chandeliers, comfortable looking settees, chairs, and loveseats, cherrywood coffee and end tables, lots of Turkish rugs, and a very full bookcase along one wall. The visitor’s reception desk resembled a high-end concierge setup. Basically, this embassy’s décor was Old Money.
    Embassy staff were always in nicely tailored, expensive suits, so in that way they resembled American Centaurion. Unlike the A-Cs, who were love slaves to black and white and Armani, the Bahrainis got to wear other designers. All of them high end.
    We didn’t linger in the lobby, but were ushered into a larger sitting room off to one side. It was almost a duplicate of the lobby, only three times as big, with three walls of bookcases and some couches and fancy tea services on even fancier rolling trays added in.
    Large or not, we had a lot of people, and the room, while not packed, seemed full. Looked around. The Bahraini ambassador wasn’t present. Neither were many of the men I’d sort of expected to see, such as my husband. However, Hacker International
were
here, along with the rest of our Embassy personnel. Including Walter Ward, who was our Embassy Head of Security and who was the last guy in the world ever willing to leave his post. This, combined with the presence of all the Embassy Daycare kids, was beyond worrisome.
    “Malcolm, seriously, what’s going on? Why are we here instead of police headquarters or, better, the protest we were actually attending? And what the hell is Walter doing here?”
    Buchanan looked around. Either my question had caught most of the room’s attention, or everyone knew that Buchanan was going to be the one who shared what the hell was going on. “Everyone’s accounted for?” Len and Kyle both nodded. “Including the