The Seal of Solomon
“Because practically everybody has the potential to be important.” “Well, I never saw myself that way. I mean, I know I’m the last living descendent of Lancelot, and my dad was pretty rich and important, but it was mostly dumb luck how I saved the world.”
She reached over and put her hand on the top of my hand.
“You’re very special, Alfred. You have a very unique gift; don’t ever forget that.”
“I don’t have any gifts.”
That was sort of an invitation for her to list my gifts, but she didn’t. For a tiny second I thought about putting my other hand on top of hers, but the second passed. She took her hand away.
“I have to go.”
“You’re on the team going in, aren’t you?”
She nodded. Her expression told me she wasn’t exactly thrilled she was on the team.
“Can I go too?”
She looked at me sharply. “Didn’t they tell you? You don’t have a choice.”
14
At that moment, the door swung open and Op Nine walked in. He was carrying a pair of combat-style black boots and a pair of thick socks. Ashley jumped off the bed and I did too, as if he had caught us doing something we shouldn’t. By the expression on his face, I figured maybe we had been.
“The rest of the team has already reported on deck,” Op Nine said to Ashley.
“I was on my way.”
“The deck,” Op Nine said tightly, “is two flights above us.”
Ashley left without another word.
I said, “Don’t dock her pay or anything. She didn’t tell me anything I didn’t already know.”
“It would be unfortunate, particularly for her, if she had,” Op Nine said. He set the boots and socks beside the bed and stepped back.
“Well,” I said. “She did tell me one thing. You’re taking me with you to the nexus.”
“It is unavoidable.”
“And why’s that?”
He just stared at me. I said, “I have this theory you might be a cyborg.”
“You are making a joke.”
“Half a joke.”
“How does one make half a joke?”
“I’ve never really thought it through. What if I refuse to go?”
“I would be forced to compel you.”
“I could fight you.” One of his thick eyebrows rose toward his hairline. “I’m a biter. And a scratcher.”
“I would immobilize you and carry you to the nexus over my shoulder like a sack of potatoes.”
“That’s a joke, right?”
“Half a joke.”
He motioned to the boots and socks. He watched silently as I pulled them on.
“How do you feel?” he asked.
“Still a little dizzy.”
“That will pass.”
“How do you know?”
“I am a trained medic as well as a cyborg.”
He opened the bulkhead door and jerked his head toward the corridor outside.
“After you, Alfred Kropp.”
Something hit me then, and instead of keeping my mouth shut, which was probably the wisest thing to do at that moment, I blurted out, “I’m the bait, aren’t I?”
“Bait?”
“Or ransom or something. Mike wants you to bring me to him.”
“I doubt that.”
“Then why do I have to go?”
“Because,” Op Nine said calmly, “we say so.”
Dumb, Kropp, dumb, dumb, dumb, I told myself, and walked through the door anyway.
15
We climbed the circular stairs two flights to the top, turned a corner, and suddenly we were in the open air. It was colder outside than I would have guessed, but I think I read somewhere that the desert gets cold at night. The Pandora had anchored about two hundred yards from shore. I could see lights there. Marsa Alam.
A group of agents was waiting on deck. I counted ten besides Op Nine and Abby, so that made me number thirteen, which seemed appropriate and ominous at the same time.
When they saw us come up, the agents turned and stared at me.
“I’m Alfred Kropp,” I said.
“They know who you are,” Op Nine said.
I was about eight thousand miles from home, but some things you never leave behind, no matter how far you go, and right then, I felt like the big awkward dateless dork at the prom.
It was a young group, except for Op Nine. Nobody looked over the age of thirty. The guys were all thick-necked and square-jawed, and their biceps bulged out the arms of their jumpsuits. There were two female agents, both blondes like Abby. They looked like fashion models with their oversized lips and very small chins and boyish hips.
Then I saw Ashley. She gave me a little smile. Op Nine cleared his throat, Ashley looked away, and then Abigail Smith began to speak.
“Well, we’ve come to it, folks. I don’t think I need to remind you of the consequences should the Hyena succeed in opening the Lesser Seal—the greatest intrusion event in a hundred generations. For this reason, the director has invoked the First Protocol.”
She paused to let that particular bit of news sink in with everyone—everyone except me, because I had no idea what she was talking about. The atmosphere got very somber.
“You understand what this means. You no longer exist— in the operational sense, of course.” She took a deep breath. “You still have time to back out.”
Nobody said anything. Abby nodded; I guess she was pleased that nobody was backing out. She asked if anyone had any questions. I had about a hundred. For example, what were an “intrusion event” and the First Protocol? The other ninety-eight were similar in that they were questions I probably didn’t want answered. But the main question was why was everyone else allowed to back out but I wasn’t?
Rope ladders hung over the railings, and we descended on them to the water below, where two speedboats bobbed gently, scraping against the hull of the Pandora. My butt had hardly touched the seat when we leaped forward and whipped hard to the left toward the lights of Marsa Alam.
The Pandora faded into the darkness, the darkest kind of dark, under a moonless sky, though the stars were very bright, much brighter than they appear in the States.
Two Land Rovers were waiting for us at the dock. Op Nine helped me out of the speedboat and I rode shotgun in the lead vehicle as he drove.
The roads in Marsa Alam were not up to American standards, and I was concentrating on keeping my tongue in the center of my mouth so I didn’t bite it off as we jounced along. We didn’t head for the lights of the town. Those lights stayed on our left and kept fading until the desert night closed around us and the only thing I could see were the twin beams of the headlamps cutting into the darkness.