He smiled, this time without showing his beautiful teeth.
“You’re the Company’s new Operative Nine, aren’t you?” I asked. “The Superseding Protocol Agent, the one above all the rules.”
“I am here on behalf of Director Smith,” Nueve said. “She sends her apologies that she cannot personally answer your summons. She is en route to headquarters.”
“She’s out of the country?”
He nodded.
“But you’re not. Why?”
He smiled.
“Maybe you’re here to check on a special delivery,” I said.
He laughed softly. “Do you really think the Company had anything to do with that?”
“Actually, I do.”
“The work of rank amateurs. Complicated, risky, over-the-top theatrics. If you had been targeted by us, believe me, you would not now be enjoying these fine accommodations. You would be dead.”
“I have the Seal,” I said. “You’re the only people who know I have it. You want it. Who else would come after me for it?”
“Why do you presume the Seal is their goal? Perhaps it is simpler than that—or more complex.”
“All I know is twenty minutes after I told you people I was keeping the Seal some guy showed up and wasted my friend, stabbed me, and blew himself up.”
He shrugged.
“So you’re saying OIPEP had nothing to do with this?” I asked.
“I am here on the direction of Director Smith, who said you wanted to speak to us.”
“And you, OIPEP’s SPA, head honcho in the black ops department, just happened to be in town on the same day an assassin shows up to kill me.”
“Call it serendipity.”
“If you kill me, you’ll never get your hands on it.”
“I have no intention of killing you, Alfred. You are far too valuable to us alive. Perhaps as a gesture of goodwill, the Company could bring its resources to bear in finding those responsible for this most heinous and wicked attack.”
“That would be really sweet of you guys. What about me?”
“You?”
“Extracting me. Isn’t that what you call it? Extract me from this interface. Make these charges go away.”
“That would prove a bit more complicated, I’m afraid.”
“But you could.”
He smiled, this time blessing me with an eyeful of his gorgeous orthodontics.
“And what in exchange for the benefits of such an extraction?” He was talking about the Seal. I said, “It was never about killing me, was it?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Mr. Delivery Dude. He wasn’t supposed to kill me. The whole thing was a setup, to put me in a bind so I’d have to make a deal.”
“Killing you seems more expeditious.”
“But for all you knew I hid the Seal and told nobody where I hid it. If you killed me, you might never get it back. So you had to keep me alive but stick me in a trap only you could get me out of.”
“You give me too much credit, Alfred. Even I would not anticipate your, shall we say, ruthless response to the attack this morning. Are you refusing to hand over the item?”
“If I hand it over now, there’s no reason for you to let me live.”
“As I’ve said, you’re far more useful to us alive than dead.”
“Why?”
He smiled. “The answer to that question, I would think, is obvious.”
13:12:41:36
Before he left, Nueve asked if there was anything else he could do. I told him yes, there was, and he promised he would arrange it.
Then he studied my face for a long time without saying anything, until finally he said, “Does it not work on yourself?”
“What?” I asked, but I knew what.
“The healing power of your blood—you cannot use it to repair your own wounds?”
I shook my head. “No. It doesn’t work on me.”
“A gift, then—not a treasure,” he whispered. “You carry a special burden, Alfred Kropp.”
He paused at the door. “Allow me a few moments to make the arrangements, yes?”
He pressed a small object into my hand. It looked like a ballpoint pen.
“What’s this?”
“Open it and see.”
I pulled off the cap, exposing a tiny hole at the top of the cylinder.
“Press the button on the side.”
I pressed and a hypodermic needle sprang from the hole.
“Only a single dose, but the poison metabolizes almost instantaneously, completely paralyzing the victim.”
The needle glittered wickedly in the fluorescent lights. “For how long?” I asked.
“Depends on the subject. Up to five minutes. Press the button again.”
I pressed, and the needle retracted.
“Why are you giving it to me?”
One of his eyebrows rose toward his dark, perfectly coiffed hair.
“You should refrain from asking questions to which you already know the answer, Alfred. It could create the impression that you are not as smart as you really are.”
He tapped lightly on the door with the head of his walking stick. “Until our next meeting, Alfred Kropp.”
“I’m really hoping there won’t be one.”
“The odds are against that.”
Bulldog-Face Man opened the door. Nueve stepped quickly into the hall and the door swung closed behind him.
I sat on the bed and waited. I got tired waiting there, so I went to the window. The window faced south, and there was Broadway, a dark ribbon between the yellow streetlights. I looked down six stories to the parking lot. A long drop, but I had recently dropped a lot longer. The window didn’t open, of course. I’d have to break the glass. And then the concrete below would break me. I guessed I could make a rope out of the bedsheets, but that would probably get me to only the fourth floor.
The door behind me opened and Bulldog-Face Man was standing there holding a bundle of clothes. He tossed them on the bed and stepped outside again without saying a word.
They were identical to his getup: white tube sox, white soft-soled shoes, white pants with a drawstring, a white short-sleeve shirt.
I dressed quickly and knocked softly on the door. He opened it, avoiding eye contact.
“Left down the hall, elevators on your right,” he murmured. “Unit 214. You got ten minutes.”