“I would not let you touch me for the very reason that I do believe it.”
“You may not be the Op Nine anymore,” I said. “But you still talk in riddles.”
He shook his head. It hit me again how truly homely he was, with the droopy hound-dog face and black rings under his eyes, with the sallow skin and huge ears.
“These men who tried to kill you will not abandon their mission simply because the object goes into hiding. Eventually, no matter how cleverly OIPEP hides you, you will be found. Better to turn and face the danger head-on, now, at a time and place of your choosing, not theirs. In a few weeks, I can help you ...”
I shoved his hand off my shoulder and stood up, backing away as I talked. Now I didn’t feel so much like crying as punching him in his sad hound-dog face.
“It isn’t my fault this time,” I said. “All I want is a normal life. Why can’t I have that? Why can everybody else have that but I can’t? You chose to be an Operative Nine ...”
“Yes, and I also chose to be your guardian, and now you would deny me that.”
“That’s it? That’s why you’re pissed? Okay, then, come with me. They’ll let you. They’ll do anything for the Seal—”
“I am still your guardian, Alfred, whether I go with you or not. And as your guardian, I must do what I feel is best for you. These people trying to hurt you—whoever they are—will continue to hunt you, though the Company hides you in the remotest corner of the globe. Do you understand? They will not stop hunting you until you are dead.”
I turned my back on him and went to the door.
“Alfred!” he called after me. “You should not trust this Nueve.”
“What makes you think I trust him?”
“He is the Operative Nine. For him, the Company’s interest trumps all others.”
“I’m giving him the Seal, Samuel. He’s getting what the Company wants.”
“The Company’s wants are many.”
“What’s that mean? What are you talking about?”
He looked away from me. “The promises of an Operative Nine are written in water, Alfred.”
“Okay ...” I waited for him to explain what the heck he was getting at.
“He may have ... other interests that conflict with yours. With ours.”
“I’ll be careful.”
I hung by the door, waiting for something but not sure what. Then it occurred to me it might not be a “what,” but a “who.”
“Who is Sofia?” I asked. He looked startled, as if I had shouted an obscenity. “You said her name in ICU and I heard you say it again when you were talking to Nueve. Who is Sofia, Samuel?”
He didn’t say anything at first. Then he said, “A ghost from the past, Alfred. That’s all. A ghost from the past.”
“Another riddle,” I said. “I should have figured.”
He nodded. “Yes. You should have.”
“Goodbye, Samuel,” I said.
“For now,” he said.
No, I thought. Forever.
05:04:49:10
In the hallway, Nueve said, “Your mascara’s running.”
He handed me his handkerchief. I dabbed my eyes.
“How do I look?” I asked.
“Like an eighty-year-old raccoon.”
I settled into the wheelchair as he pushed me to the elevators. Nueve instructed me to tuck my chin toward my chest. “It will help hide your face,” he said.
“Who is Sofia?” I asked as we waited for the elevator.
“Ah. Finally, a question to which you truly do not know the answer, yes? Or did Samuel tell you?”
“He said she was a ghost from his past.”
“She is many things. A ghost from the past, a promise for the future.”
“Huh?”
“Sofia is the Judeo-Christian goddess of wisdom, Senor Kropp.” His voice had a playful tone. “Have you ever been to the Sistine Chapel?”
“I’ve been meaning to get there.”
“She is there, under the left arm of God as he reaches with his right to touch Adam. A beautiful woman who represents truth and knowledge and all that is beneficent and worthwhile. She is the source, the font of all righteousness. I am surprised you’ve never heard of her.”
“Why?”
“Because according to some accounts, Sofia is the Lady of the Lake who brings Michael’s Sword to Arthur.”
So that was it. Samuel must have brought up the same point to Nueve that he argued with me: I was Michael’s beloved and by running away I was turning my back on heaven. I wondered why he and Nueve had picked that moment to have an argument about religion. Sam used to be a priest, but I doubted Nueve even believed in heaven. He didn’t strike me as the religious type. He struck me as someone who really didn’t believe in anything at all, except power. Samuel had called being an Operative Nine a burden, but I didn’t think Nueve looked at it that way. I had the impression he liked being the Operative Nine. He liked it a lot.
The elevator doors slid open. Nueve swiveled the chair around and pulled me backward into the elevator.
A voice called from the hallway outside, “Hey, hold the door!” Nueve stopped the doors from closing with the end of his cane. Two orderlies stepped inside, both a bit out of breath.
“Thanks, man,” one of them said.
They stood on either side of us. Nueve was standing directly behind my chair. The elevator began to descend. The four of us stared straight ahead, like everybody does in elevators.
Then Nueve leaned forward and whispered calmly in my ear, “I shall take the one on the left.”
“Take what?” I asked, because I had no idea what he meant.
His black cane whistled over my head and slammed with a sickening crunch against the orderly’s Adam’s apple. The blow dropped him.
The one to my right was already on me. I saw a flash of fluorescent light play across the blade in his hand as he brought a black dagger toward my stomach.
Nueve was too quick for him. He caught his wrist and twisted it upward while the cane swooshed again over my head, landing against the side of my attacker’s jaw.
As he went down, a gun went off; the report was very loud in the small space. The bullet caught Nueve in the left shoulder. He barely winced. A six-inch tapered blade sprang from the end of his cane.
“Duck,” he hissed.
I ducked, covering my head with my hands, like a passenger going down in an airplane. I heard the cane whistle through the air and then a wet, gurgling noise and the sound of the gun clattering to the floor. An instant later the man to my right went “Huh!” as if somebody had just told him a shocking piece of news. His body thudded to the floor as the elevator jerked to a stop: Nueve must have hit the emergency button.