Nueve walked rapidly toward the hangar. I lagged behind. I was tired.
“Come, Alfred Kropp,” Nueve said without looking back. “Journey’s end.”
“She’s here,” the guard huffed at Nueve. “And she’s not happy.”
The pedestrian door to the hangar was padlocked and the guard fumbled with the keys.
“Who’s here?” I asked.
He popped the padlock and pulled open the door for Nueve. He gave me a look as I followed Nueve inside.
“What?” I asked.
“Thought you’d be prettier.”
A black Learjet sat facing the hangar doors. Guys in gray coveralls were messing all around it, getting it ready for takeoff, I guessed. Just a couple more flights, I told myself. Three tops, and then I’ll never fly again.
A woman approached us, the click of her cherry-red high heels on the polished concrete echoing in the vast space. She was wearing a pin-striped business suit and her blond hair was piled on top of her head.
It was Abigail Smith, the director of OIPEP, and the owner of the most magnificent orthodontics I had ever seen.
“Alfred dear, so good to see you again, alive if not particularly well.” She was beaming. She kissed me on the cheek. She turned to Nueve and the beaming went away. “Another botch, Nueve.”
“Would not a botch be defined as Kropp’s demise?”
“We’ve been busy enough with the hospital attack and the incident on the interstate. Now Medcon has a downed Company chopper to deal with.” Medcon was OIPEP-speak for “Media Control,” the part of the Company that invented cover stories for its operations.
“Unavoidable,” Nueve said archly.
“I don’t want to interrupt,” I interrupted. “But do you think maybe I could change my clothes before we leave?”
Like the sun bursting through the clouds, Abby’s brilliant smile returned. “Of course, Alfred. This way.”
She put her arm around my shoulder and we walked toward the back of the hangar. A wooden staircase led up to an office suite with a large window that overlooked the bay.
“I understand you’ve had quite the time of it since I saw you last,” she said.
“That’s putting it mildly,” I said.
“You’ve made a wise decision, Alfred. At least in regards to the Seal—but I wonder about the wisdom of your asking price.”
“I made a mistake,” I said.
She turned to me at the top of the stairs.
“Before I sent him back to the Holy Vessel,” I went on, “the demon king showed me this vision . . . He offered me what I’m asking for now, only I told him no, because the price was too high.”
“What was the price?”
“His freedom.”
She gave me a long, quizzical look. “That’s it, isn’t it, Alfred? Freedom.”
I nodded.
“Nueve won’t play straight with me, Abby, but you always have. If I give you guys the Seal, you’ll keep your promises, won’t you?”
She smiled, and this time her smile was of the sad variety, and then she put a hand on my cheek.
“As long as I am director,” she said, which was as ironclad a promise as I was probably going to get.
She opened the door and I saw Mr. Needlemier’s bald head rushing toward me, his stubby arms flung wide. He bumped Abby out of the way and buried his chubby baby face into my chest.
“It’s okay, Mr. Needlemier,” I said. “I’m fine.”
“Thank God!” he cried. “When they lost contact with the helicopter I feared the very worst!”
Nueve stepped into the room, his dark eyes lighting up at the sight of Mr. Needlemier.
“Ah, the lawyer. Excellent!” He turned to Abby. “The plane is ready, Director. We can affect the exchange.”
“In a moment,” Abby Smith said. She was still aggravated with him. “Alfred is changing first and meeting his extraction coordinator.”
“My what?”
“This way, Alfred.”
“I’ll wait right here,” Mr. Needlemier whispered.
Abby led me into another room. A girl with skin the color of copper, blond hair, and huge blue eyes was sitting on the sofa. She stood up when she saw me.
“Ashley?”
“Hi, Alfred,” she said, and then she hugged me. I smelled lilacs. I looked down and there were those enormous blue eyes looking up at me.
“They told me you’d changed,” she said.
“The dress wasn’t my idea,” I said.
“I don’t mean the dress.”
She stepped back—the hug had lasted about four seconds too long.
“I thought you quit,” I said.
“They made an offer I couldn’t refuse.” She glanced toward Abby.
“Ashley agreed to return to the Company on the condition we assign her as your extraction coordinator.”
“Oh,” I said. “What’s that mean?”
“It means Ashley is in charge of coordinating your extraction from our interface.”
I looked at Ashley. “I hate OIPEP,” I said.
She laughed. “Why don’t you change, Alfred? I’ll meet you outside.”
She left, a bouncing swirl of golden-haired blondness.
“Bathroom over there, clothes in the closet beside it,” Abby said. She looked at her watch. “We need to leave in the next fifteen minutes to stay within security parameters.”
She patted my arm and started to go.
“Abby, wait,” I called after her. “About Samuel.”
“Samuel?”
“You know, Op Nine . . . Samuel. Is he okay?”
“Yes, Alfred. We’ve moved him to a safe location.”
“Well, if I’ve learned anything from the past, there’s no such thing.”
Abby laughed.
“I wasn’t making a joke,” I said. “So he’s not here.”
“There’s no reason for him to be, is there?”
I thought about it. “No, I guess not. It’s just, we kind of had an argument the last time I saw him. Can you let him know I’m okay—that everything’s going to be okay now?”
“Of course, Alfred.”
“Who is Sofia?”
She looked at me for a second without saying anything, reminding me of Nueve’s stone-faced stare at the dairy farm.