"Same as for the all the aliases-so we can't identify him and therefore can't betray him. He's not Cuban and he's not Mexican. He's a white American, like all of you. Seor Reid was white, too, but he understood Cuba. This one?" Raul shrugged. "He understands how to make the Corporation strong again, and we respect that."

"Why would your identifying the head of the Corporation be a problem?" Chuckie asked from behind me. "It's not like you all didn't know the Battles when they were running things."

"Papa Patrn isn't trusting. Now, I've told you the truth. Are you going to let my wife bleed out?"

"Oh, it's tempting, but I guess not," Reader said. He'd procured a med kit, presumably from the Secret Spy Room, and knelt down near Bernie. Chuckie moved Lopez away from her so he couldn't try anything.

While Reader performed battlefield medical treatment and Buchanan covered everyone with his gun, I went back to check on Sanchez. He was awake. Picked him up and brought him back out with the others. "Look, another party favor."

Raul glared at me. "You think you're funny."

"No, I think I'm hilarious. I also think your loyalty was to Reid, not to Battle or to Mister Aliases."

Raul shrugged. "Seor Reid helped me when I was young. I show my appreciation."

"What has Papa Patrn done for you lately?"

"Paid us well to kill off everyone on Angela Katt's team."

This wasn't news, but it still made me see red. "Which one of you killed her?"

"I told you, Papa Patrn did that himself. I would have, if he'd let me. She killed Seor Reid."

"Actually," Chuckie said, and his voice was tight, "she didn't. I did."

CHAPTER 34.

RAUL STARED AT CHUCKIE for a long moment. "Then I'm doubly sorry we didn't kill you and all your family today."

That did it. I punched Raul as hard as I could, which was pretty hard. Uppercut. He went back, down, and out.

"I think you broke his jaw," Buchanan said conversationally. "Nice hit."

"It was that or kill him. Okay, we can't turn these four over to who you normally would-their benefactor is in the C.I.A., meaning that the hunt for all of my mother's team was essentially put in place by a mole. And said mole will ensure they 'escape' and come after us again. I'm not willing to risk that." Especially because Other Me and I might be back in our own worlds when that happened.

"Mole hunts are never pleasant," Chuckie said.

"And I'd figure this mole has it set up to make it look like whoever the last man standing out of the team is the one who killed everyone else. Malcolm, based on James' reactions when he saw you, I'd say that you drew the Tom Cruise role in the first Mission Impossible movie."

He nodded. "So, what do we do with them? I'm fine with killing them."

"Make up your mind," Reader said. "I'm putting a lot of effort into not letting Miz Charm here bleed out."

"I think we need to call in friends from overseas. I suggest Mossad, but MI Six is also a great option."

"We have Mossad contacts," Reader admitted.

"I'm sure you do. My mom was in Mossad when she was younger, wasn't she?"

"Yes," Chuckie said. His voice sounded funny. Looked at him. He looked funny, too.

"James, the moment Bernie's patched up, make the call to Mossad. Tell them we need these people picked up fast and we're only turning them over if we have their a.s.surance that they will not be handed right back to the Corporation or to the C.I.A."

"You got it, girlfriend."

It was nice to hear Reader sounding like my Reader. But Chuckie was not acting like my Chuckie. Grabbed him and went back to our whispering corner. "What's wrong?"

"I can't tell her I'm C.I.A. If I do, then I have to tell her it's my fault her mother's dead. And she'll never forgive me for that, ever."

"Chuckie, seriously, you're losing it." He winced. "Sorry, look, I've only used that name for you since the first day of high school. Not embarra.s.sing you is an adjustment we don't have time for. Unless you pulled the trigger or shoved her in front of a bullet, how the h.e.l.l is these a.s.sholes murdering Mom your fault?"

"It was my operation. Things went wrong . . ." He looked old, very old, suddenly, and I realized he'd been carrying this guilt for well over two years.

Thought back. I remembered how Mom had been during the Party of Death that was the start of Operation Sherlock-she'd given me a giant bear hug for no real reason, and hadn't been able to tell me about what mission she'd been on at that time. The timing wasn't quite the same, but then again, Reid was dead by then in our world. Didn't matter-Mom had probably almost died on that mission, whatever that mission was. If there had been a mole in the C.I.A. or P.T.C.U., maybe my mother would be dead in my world, too.

Of course, the Mastermind was somewhere high up in the government. Meaning that Mom probably survived because there were aliens on the planet and Centaurion Division always ensured that the P.T.C.U. had Field agent back up.

I took one of Chuckie's hands. "Look, what you do and what Mom did is highly dangerous work. And it sounds like there's a mole in the C.I.A. In fact, if you guys were after the Corporation, then it's a guarantee that nothing you guys could have done-regardless of who'd planned the operation-would have gone right. It was set up for all of you to die. That you only lost Mom is probably miraculous."

"She'll never-"

"Stop selling us short!" I hissed this as vehemently as I could, hopefully without sharing it with everyone else. "You know what I see as the problem in your relationship? The fact that you've spent so many years lying to the person you love the most under the guise of protecting her that you can't believe that she can roll with whatever you throw at her. But she can, and I know that because she's freaking me. I handled aliens on the planet without batting an eyelash." Okay, I'd fainted, but that was because Jeff had implanted some memory in me and besides, that wasn't important now. "She can certainly handle this."

"What if she can't? What if this, combined with Jamie and everything else makes her . . . ?"

"Makes her what?"

"Makes her want to stay in your world?"

"My G.o.d when did you become a Drama Llama?"

Reader came over. "Sorry to interrupt the domestic dispute, but I've sent a message to our main contact at Mossad, complete with pictures of our four friends over there. Waiting to hear back."

"What do we do with them in the meantime?"

Reader shrugged. "No idea. I'm more interested in translating the aliases they gave us."

"They're worthless," Chuckie said morosely.

Channeled Mom. "Snap out of it, and that's a d.a.m.n order."

Both men jerked and straightened up. "What?" Chuckie asked.

"I said to cut it out, and I mean it. Stop moping and wallowing in drama about all the many 'what ifs' you've decided are so all-encompa.s.sing and, instead, put the best mind in the multiverse to the task at hand. We need to figure out if those stupid aliases give us anything to work with to identify the mole in the C.I.A. who happens to be running the Cuban Mob. Unless you're just too busy feeling sorry for yourself, that is."

Chuckie blinked. "My Kitty never talks to me like that," he said finally.

"Maybe she should. Maybe she will. I can guarantee she will if you're still trying to blame yourself for every problem in the world when she gets back. Now, focus. We have four aliases to work with. Chop, chop, time's a wastin'."

Chuckie nodded slowly and gave himself a little shake. "Okay. Papa Patrn is obvious-Father Boss. Junior Boss is the right translation for Menor Patrn, and that seems both obvious and not like we get anything more."

"Other than confirmation that Reid was your first Sith Lord and that the current Papa Patrn was his Apprentice. Which the Michael Corleone name indicates, too. The son who will actually take over the mob."

Reader nodded. "Yeah. It also could indicate there were other 'sons' who didn't survive."

"Then they, like all of Reid's rivals in the Corporation, are dead. This isn't a group that sends their compet.i.tion off to rest homes or vacations in Aruba."

"True enough," Reader said. "So, what about our last name, Faralln Tipobueno?"

"That name isn't one I've heard before," Chuckie said. "Either first or last."

"Frankly, like Raul said, it sounds made up." Thought about it. "LaRue Demorte must be a made up name, too. It never occurred to me before, because she was working for Gaultier and at the time I met her I didn't think of her as an evil genius. So, it's a safe bet she's Seora de Muerte. Gaultier was French, so she put her fake name into French. Now she's tied up with the Cuban Mob, so she's put her fake name into Spanish . . ."

"What?" Reader asked. "Oh. Wait. You think Papa Patrn has done the same thing, don't you?"

"Yeah, I do. I just don't speak Spanish well enough-well, at all, really-to be able to translate it."

Chuckie clenched his jaw. "It would figure," he snarled.

"What would?"

"Hang on, I need to be sure." He had his phone out. "Give me a minute, Google has a nice translation program."

Reader's phone rang while Chuckie's phone was connecting. Apparently A-Cs on the planet meant that telecommunications was a lot better. "Yes? Hey. Yes. Yes, we'll only release with your guarantee that they won't be extradited to either Cuba or the U.S. Frankly, we want them on ice forever. Oh? Really? Well then, we're pleased to have done a favor for our friends. Yeah, please, as soon as possible."

Reader hung up and chuckled. "Turns out the Israelis are looking for all four of them. Something about some high-ranking operatives being a.s.sa.s.sinated over the past couple of years."

"Think they were going after Mom's friends in Mossad?"

"I think it's very possible," Reader said. "Your Sith Lord seems to have a real hatred of Angela, to an almost insane degree."

"They were absolutely going after all of Angela's friends, but not because of her. Because of me." Chuckie sounded furious, though not guilty. So, one for the win column. "I should have seen it-this guy's been jealous of me since we met and spent the first part of our careers constantly trying to one-up me. He's a loose cannon. Brilliant, but unhinged. I always felt he got in due to political connections, and if Reid pulled strings, that would fit."

"James and I are breathless with antic.i.p.ation to learn who this guy is so we can go kill him. So, you know, in your own time and all that."

Chuckie looked at me, and his eyes were flashing with rage. "Faralln Tipobueno translates in a Spanish-Cuban fusion to Cliff Goodman."

CHAPTER 35.

MY TURN TO BLINK. "Wait, what? Cliff Goodman? He's a tall blond guy a little older than us, usually dresses like every other go-getter in D.C. and normally has his hair just this side of a Marine high and tight? That Cliff Goodman?"

"That's the one," Chuckie growled.

"Bizarro World is officially more bizarre than I was prepared for. Cliff works for Homeland Security, not the C.I.A., and he's your best friend in D.C. In my world, anyway."

"No idea of how," Reader said. "He and Chuck are like oil and water."

"Um, you two aren't close in my world. You didn't meet through me in that universe, and that may be why. You don't all-out hate each other, but you're not buddies-it's more like you two tolerate each other, in a friendly way, but still. And Gaultier and Marling are good guys here. So, the precedent exists for good in one and evil in the other."

"Why are you defending him?" Chuckie asked. Angrily.

"Because . . . he's your friend. You trust him . . ."

"What?" Reader asked softly.

"Um, I need to be able to talk out loud. And I don't want our prisoners hearing me. How soon are the Israelis getting here?"

No sooner asked than Pierre came running down. "We have a very suspicious-looking van arriving. Should I get everyone into the safe room?"

"Yes, just in case," Chuckie said. "I think they're friendlies, by the way."

Pierre nodded then looked at Bernie. "Oh, there's blood. Wonderful. I hope I can get it out of the flooring." With that he raced off.

"You two stay with the prisoners," Chuckie said to me and Buchanan. "The agents coming know me and James, and they're a suspicious bunch with great aim and itchy trigger fingers."

"You know, just like Buchanan," Reader added as they headed upstairs.

"Hilarious," Buchanan said.

Went over to him. "Think Mossad will keep their word?"

Buchanan nodded. "They tend to be less . . . forgiving than we are."

Bernie looked freaked out. "Please, don't let them take us." She was pleading.

Knelt down in front of her. "If we'd begged to be spared, if we'd asked you not to try to murder three innocent little children, would you still have killed us?"

"No." But she wasn't looking at me.

"Look at me," I growled. She did. "Don't look away. Now, answer my question again."

"No." But her voice trembled and the lie was in her eyes, and besides, I knew her in my world. And in this one, she was still the same.