Free Alien Tango by Gini Koch

charge,” he added with a wink. “Oh, and call me Kevin.”
    “I’m Kitty.” I managed not to giggle. Geez, I hadn’t acted like a teenager when I’d met Martini or Reader. This was embarrassing. But Kevin had bags of charisma. I introduced him to the rest of the team and noted Reader was checking him out as much as I was.
    Martini, Gower, and Christopher were all glaring at Kevin. It dawned on me that Reader and I were both being a little obvious in our drooling.
    “How much info on our situation has my mother given you?”
    Kevin smiled again. He had great teeth. “I know all about Centaurion Division. And,” he added, looking to the other men, “I’d like to thank you. If your agents hadn’t acted when they did, my wife and children would have been killed during the engagement with Al Dejahl.”
    Darn. Married. Oh, well. I saw Reader have a similar reaction. No matter that Martini’s expression was genial, I figured he was probably mad at me.
    He gave Kevin a big grin. “Kids, huh? How many?”
    “Two. Boy and girl.”
    “Got any pictures?”
    “Sure. Happy to show ’em off when this is done. They’re the best.” Kevin looked back to me. “So, how do you want to do this?”
    “I want those still sitting here searched and then put somewhere in a holding area, just in case.”
    “What do you think we’re looking for?” Reader asked me. “Everything would have gone through airport security already.”
    I’d been giving this a lot of thought, in between admiring Kevin and trying to keep said admiration from Martini. “Two options. In the first, we’ll discover one of the maintenance personnel has slipped a bomb into the belly of the plane. In the second, it’ll be more than one, perhaps several. Put together they’ll have the components to create a bomb, but separately each component will be harmless.”
    Kevin looked impressed. “You’re Angela’s daughter, that’s for sure.” He sighed. “I’m calling in all Security personnel. This’ll be too much for us to handle alone.”
    “Works for me, do whatever it is the P.T.C.U. does best. But make it big—lots of fuss, lots of manpower, bomb sniffing dogs if at all possible, the works.”
    He laughed and pulled out a cell phone, moved a couple of feet away and started talking. I pulled my guys into a huddle. “Okay, I’m betting on option number two.”
    “Why?” Gower asked. “Maintenance seems easier.”
    “They held the plane,” Christopher added. “So maintenance or checked luggage would seem to be the way to assume.”
    “No. They wouldn’t let the passengers off. Half the time if you change planes like this your checked bags won’t make it with you anyway. They’ll fly out before or after you. In a standard delay situation, they’d move as many people to the next flight as they could, probably taking the first class passengers and then those with connecting flights.”
    “They held it for us. We’re important.” Christopher sounded frustrated.
    Tim laughed. “Christopher, only we know we’re important.”
    “Tim’s right. We’re a freaking covert operation. Commercial jets aren’t held for covert ops. They fly in their own damn planes, like we normally do. Jeff was ready to pop a vessel over this, and, Paul, you know you don’t like it. Think, dammit. It’s a setup.”
    Reader had the file out and was skimming it. “Who did our girl Alicia say was the one who gave the order?”
    “Leventhal. No first name.”
    “Oh.” Reader was quiet for a moment, staring at the folder. “Ten to one that would be Leventhal Reid, head of the House Subcommittee on Terrorism.” He looked up from the file. “And, for the record, he knows about us and hates our guts.”
    I wondered if this was the same Reid my parents had mentioned at dinner and bet that it was. “Is he also on the House South American Policy, Joint National Security, and House Immigration committees?”
    Reader nodded. “He’s got a lot of clout, in a