The Thirteenth Skull (Alfred Kropp #3)(26)

What did he say? She has promised me and I believe her.The gift shall be given again to the true heir of Camelot, but not before the Thirteenth Skull is borne home.

The gift of Saint Michael must be Excalibur, and he must have been referring to himself as the true heir of Camelot, but who was this she he was talking about? The Lady of the Lake?

According to some accounts, Sofia is the Lady of the Lake who brings Michael’s Sword to Arthur.

Sofia. Sam had said her name in his sleep and later argued with Nueve about her. Did Sam know Jourdain was after me? Did he know the whole time and, if he did, why didn’t he tell me?

At the airport, Nueve drove to a hangar set off by itself in the corner of the airfield and surrounded by a ten-foot-tall chain-link fence topped with razor wire. A couple of big guys dressed in blue jumpers with 9mm Glocks strapped to their waists patrolled the compound. They met us at the padlocked gate, and one hit the button on his radio.

“Alice is up from the hole,” he said. “Repeat, Alice is up.”

He unlocked the gate and Nueve rolled the bike into the compound. I walked beside it with rubbery legs and an aching butt from the horse ride. I wondered who “Alice” was, me or Nueve. I was pretty sure who though.

Nueve walked rapidly toward the hangar. I lagged behind. I was tired.

“Come, Alfred Kropp,” Nueve said without looking back. “Journey’s end.”

“She’s here,” the guard huffed at Nueve. “And she’s not happy.”

The pedestrian door to the hangar was padlocked and the guard fumbled with the keys.

“Who’s here?” I asked.

He popped the padlock and pulled open the door for Nueve. He gave me a look as I followed Nueve inside.

“What?” I asked.

“Thought you’d be prettier.”

A black Learjet sat facing the hangar doors. Guys in gray coveralls were messing all around it, getting it ready for takeoff, I guessed. Just a couple more flights, I told myself. Three tops, and then I’ll never fly again.

A woman approached us, the click of her cherry-red high heels on the polished concrete echoing in the vast space. She was wearing a pin-striped business suit and her blond hair was piled on top of her head.

It was Abigail Smith, the director of OIPEP, and the owner of the most magnificent orthodontics I had ever seen.

“Alfred dear, so good to see you again, alive if not particularly well.” She was beaming. She kissed me on the cheek. She turned to Nueve and the beaming went away. “Another botch, Nueve.”

“Would not a botch be defined as Kropp’s demise?”

“We’ve been busy enough with the hospital attack and the incident on the interstate. Now Medcon has a downed Company chopper to deal with.” Medcon was OIPEP-speak for “Media Control,” the part of the Company that invented cover stories for its operations.

“Unavoidable,” Nueve said archly.

“I don’t want to interrupt,” I interrupted. “But do you think maybe I could change my clothes before we leave?”

Like the sun bursting through the clouds, Abby’s brilliant smile returned. “Of course, Alfred. This way.”

She put her arm around my shoulder and we walked toward the back of the hangar. A wooden staircase led up to an office suite with a large window that overlooked the bay.

“I understand you’ve had quite the time of it since I saw you last,” she said.

“That’s putting it mildly,” I said.

“You’ve made a wise decision, Alfred. At least in regards to the Seal—but I wonder about the wisdom of your asking price.”

“I made a mistake,” I said.

She turned to me at the top of the stairs.

“Before I sent him back to the Holy Vessel,” I went on, “the demon king showed me this vision . . . He offered me what I’m asking for now, only I told him no, because the price was too high.”

“What was the price?”

“His freedom.”

She gave me a long, quizzical look. “That’s it, isn’t it, Alfred? Freedom.”

I nodded.

“Nueve won’t play straight with me, Abby, but you always have. If I give you guys the Seal, you’ll keep your promises, won’t you?”

She smiled, and this time her smile was of the sad variety, and then she put a hand on my cheek.

“As long as I am director,” she said, which was as ironclad a promise as I was probably going to get.

She opened the door and I saw Mr. Needlemier’s bald head rushing toward me, his stubby arms flung wide. He bumped Abby out of the way and buried his chubby baby face into my chest.

“It’s okay, Mr. Needlemier,” I said. “I’m fine.”

“Thank God!” he cried. “When they lost contact with the helicopter I feared the very worst!”

Nueve stepped into the room, his dark eyes lighting up at the sight of Mr. Needlemier.

“Ah, the lawyer. Excellent!” He turned to Abby. “The plane is ready, Director. We can affect the exchange.”

“In a moment,” Abby Smith said. She was still aggravated with him. “Alfred is changing first and meeting his extraction coordinator.”

“My what?”

“This way, Alfred.”

“I’ll wait right here,” Mr. Needlemier whispered.