The Seal of Solomon

“Alfred,” Op Nine said softly. “He can’t hear you.”

We searched the cabin for two hours, from the rafters to the floorboards. We checked the crawlspace and under the porch. We walked the grounds, looking for any signs of digging. I had gone through the bedroom twice before realizing I forgot to look under the bed.

I didn’t find the Vessel under there, but I did find a laptop computer. An IBM ThinkPad. I carried it into the main room, set it down on the coffee table, and booted it up.

“What is this?” Op Nine asked.

“It’s an OIPEP computer,” I said. “Maybe after he was fired, Mike stole it like he stole the Seal, but I don’t think so. I’ve got a very bad feeling about this.”

“OIPEP?” Mr. Needlemier asked. He looked like somebody trapped in a nightmare. I knew the feeling. “What is an OIPEP?”

“Good people who sometimes have to do bad things,” I muttered.

It seemed to take forever for the screen to pop up, and my stomach did a slow roll when it did.

Op Nine and Mr. Needlemier crowded over my shoulder, and the three of us stared at the screen.

Integrated Security

Interface System

[ISIS]

User Warning: Use of this Interface is restricted to Company personnel with Security Clearances of A-17 or above.

Any unauthorized access of this System will result in immediate termination and forfeiture of all rights and privileges granted to personnel under Section 1.256 of the OIPEP Charter.

For Security Protocols related to use of ISIS, see Section 4 of the Charter.

User Login:

Password:

“ ‘Isis,’ ” Mr. Needlemier breathed.

Mike still lay out cold on the sofa beside us. I pushed Mr. Needlemier out of the way and jabbed Mike’s shoulder.

“Mike! Wake up!”

“That won’t be necessary,” Op Nine said softly. His long fingers raced over the keys.

I stared at him. “You remember?”

He smiled grimly. “A Superseding Protocol Agent has access to all user accounts.”

I peered over his shoulder as he pulled up Mike’s e-mails. Nobody said anything as he clicked them open, one by one.

“What’s ‘Sub-Sub-Sec Op Utopia’?” I asked.

“ ‘Sec Op’ stands for ‘Secret Operation,’ Alfred. A Sub-Sub-Sec is an operation of the highest secrecy—director’s eyes only.”

“And Utopia?”

He shook his head. “Never heard of it.”

Mr. Needlemier spoke up. His voice was shrill with excitement. “I have! A utopia is a perfect society!”

Op Nine stared at him without expression.

“Well,” Mr. Needlemier said. “It is.”

“This is very curious,” Op Nine said. “The Charter mandates that Section Nine operatives be briefed on all sub-sub-sec ops.”

“Aquarius,” I said. “I’ve seen that name before, on your computer.”

“Aquarius,” Op Nine said, “is François Merryweather, the director of OIPEP.”

“That does it,” I said. I grabbed the 3XD out of Op Nine’s hand and jammed it under Mike’s chin.

“Mike!” I yelled. “You’ve got to the count of three!”

“Alfred,” Op Nine said. “If you do this, we may never solve this riddle.”

“You don’t remember,” I shot back. My voice was shaking pretty badly and tears stung in my eyes. “You don’t know everything he’s done. Not just to me, Op Nine—Samuel . . .” It felt weird, calling him Samuel after knowing him for so long as Op Nine. “But to everyone.”

“Killing him will not change that,” he answered.

“I don’t care about changing it,” I said. “I care about making him pay.”

“How he pays is not your decision.”

“Don’t bring up God or heaven to me, Nine. Don’t even go near there. I never saw much evidence of him before all this happened and I sure as hell haven’t seen any since it all happened.”

“Put down the weapon, Alfred,” Op Nine said.

“Not till I’ve put him away.”

Mike gave a loud moan and his eyelids fluttered. I poked his Adam’s apple with the muzzle of the gun.

“Wake up, Mike!”

He moaned again. I brought my face close to his.

“It’s over, Mike. We need the Seal and we need it now.”

“Bi . . .” he whispered. “Bi . . .”

“Bye?” Mr. Needlemier said.

“ ‘By’ what, Mike?” I asked. “What is it by?”

“Bite me,” he gasped.

“No thanks,” I said. “I think I’ll just shoot you.”

“Tell him we have her,” Op Nine said.

I looked at him. Who did we have?

“Tell him we have his mother.”

“You’re bluffing,” Mike said. “There’s no way.”

“Michael,” Op Nine said softly, coming to stand beside me so Mike could see him. “Michael, you know me. You know what I am. You know Section Nine.”

Mike’s eyes had gone wide.

“I don’t believe you,” Mike said.

“I shall tell her that. I’ll explain you didn’t believe us.”

“Shut up,” Mike shouted. “Just shut your pie-hole, Padre. I’m not giving up the Vessel.”

“The Great Seal has been lost,” Op Nine said. “What use is the Vessel to you now?”

“Well, for one thing, it’s the only thing that’s keeping Al here from blowing my head off.”

Op Nine smiled grimly. “Tell us, Mike, or I will give the order.”

He held out his hand toward me. I got it immediately, and handed him his cell phone.

“Well, Padre, I love my mom, don’t get me wrong, but I always thought my life might have turned out just a wee bit different if it hadn’t been for her. You know how it is, Al—we got no choice when it comes to parents, and some of them are woefully underqualified.”

“This is Nine,” Op Nine said into the cell phone. “I am authorizing Execution Code Delta-Alpha-Tango. Repeat: authorizing Execution Code Delta-Alpha-Tango.”

“Lemme talk to her,” Mike said.

Op Nine was pretending to listen to the nonexistent person on the other end of the line.

“Yes. Advise her that the Hyena refuses to cooperate.”

“Tell her self-preservation trumps familial loyalty!” Mike shouted. Then he said, “ ‘Hyena’? That’s my target name?”