The Seal of Solomon (Alfred Kropp #2)(31)

“I will strain to be jollier, Director.”

“Jolliness cannot be strained at, Nine. Look at those abysmal circus clowns. So, Alfred, here you are, quite safe, though not quite sound. However, the doctor assured me we can expect a full recovery. If there is anything you need, anything at all, you must not hesitate to let us know. Is there anything you need right now?”

“Yes,” I said. “My mom. I want my mom.”

He looked at Abigail Smith, who shrugged.

“You said anything at all,” I said.

“I’m afraid we’re fresh out of mothers here. However, perhaps you might like something to eat? What is your favorite food? Pizza? Hamburger? Perhaps a taco? Or ice cream. What is your favorite flavor?”

“I don’t want any of your freakin’ ice cream! I want to go home!” I was starting to lose it again.

“Alfred,” Dr. Smith said.

A loud buzzer interrupted her, followed by a man’s voice from a speaker hidden somewhere in the room.

“Dr. Merryweather, I think you’d better get down here.”

“Down where?” Merryweather asked.

“The morgue.”

He exchanged a look with Abigail Smith and Op Nine.

“Can’t it wait?” he asked.

“Uh, I don’t think so. And I think you’d better bring Kropp.”

“Bring Kropp?”

“Definitely bring Kropp.”

“I’m not sure I’m ready for the morgue,” I said.

“I’ll meet you there,” Merryweather snapped at us, and hurried from the room.

Operative Nine and Abigail Smith untied my arms and helped me to my feet. Pain shot up my leg and my knee buckled. Operative Nine caught me before I hit the floor.

“What’s the matter with my leg?” I asked.

“You have been shot.”

“Shot? What about my arm? What happened to it?”

“Shot.”

“Two shots?”

He nodded. We were hustling down the corridor toward an elevator at the end of the hall. The walls were cinderblock, painted lime green, and the floor was gray. Abigail had one side of me and Operative Nine the other.

“What kind of guns do demons use?”

“You weren’t shot by demons; you were shot by Bedouins.”

Abigail punched the Down button.

“Bedouins! What do they have against me?”

“Nothing.”

“So they shot me just for the heck of it?”

The elevator door slid open and they helped me inside. I leaned against the back wall, trying to catch my breath. Abigail pressed the button labeled “LL24” and we started to descend. “They shot you because their master told them to,” Op Nine said.

“Their master? A demon?”

“The Hyena.”

“A hyena ordered some Bedouins to shoot me?”

“It is more complicated than that.”

“How could it be more complicated than that?”

Abigail coughed.

The door slid open and we made an immediate right out of the elevator into a huge room with a metal floor and a bank of freezer-looking doors along the length of one wall.

Dr. Merryweather was there, and the same guy in the white coat who had examined me. He waved us into the room, a finger pressed against his lips. He then pointed that same finger at the bank of doors.

One of them was open and the shelf that had been slid out held a body bag. Half the bag lay on the shelf; the other half looked as if whoever was in that bag was sitting up.

“What is it?” Abigail whispered, clearly troubled by the sight of a dead body sitting up.

“Listen!” the doctor whispered back.

I couldn’t hear anything at first, but after a second I did, a kind of hissing sound. After another second or two the sound took shape and I could make out a word.

That word was “Kropp.”

“I come in to prep the body for autopsy and that’s what I find.” The doctor’s voice was shaking.

Again, louder this time: “Kropp!”

“Open the bag,” Op Nine said.

“You’re kidding, right?” both the doctor and Merryweather said at the same time.

“Open the bag.”

“Look,” the doctor said. “I’m a civilian, a private contractor . . . I’m not a field operative. I’ve got a wife and family . . .”

“Open the bag.”

“Do as he says,” Dr. Merryweather said.

The doctor bit his lip, then walked over to the bag and slowly drew the zipper up and over the head inside. He stepped back quickly as the bag fell open, the material gathering around the body’s waist.

The first thing I noticed was how ripped this guy was, a real Schwarzenegger type. The second thing was the gaping hole in the middle of his chest. And third, he had no eyes.

His lips barely moved, but the sound clearly came from his mouth, a hiss forming into the same word again.

“Kropp. ”

“Yes,” Op Nine said loudly. “He is here. Kropp is here.”

“Alfred Kropp,” the dead man hissed. He had been a hairy guy, and the contrast between the pale, dead flesh and the coarse black hair was striking.

Op Nine gave me a little nudge and I blurted out, “Yes, I’m here.”