The Thirteenth Skull (Alfred Kropp #3)(46)

The kid prays there’s a purpose to Mingus and the vials. He doesn’t know what that purpose is, but he prays he’s still a Special Item in OIPEP’s eyes.

“Lower your weapons,” Nueve said in a calm voice. “Let him through.”

I walked through and their line closed around me. I held the box, Nueve held his cane, and the men behind us held their assault rifles.

“This is the moment when I say, ‘Ah, Alfred Kropp, we meet again,’ ” Nueve said.

“We’re checking out of Club OIPEP,” I told him. “Me and Ashley.”

“It’s more akin to the Hotel California, Alfred,” he said.

“What?”

“An obscure reference to a song well before your time. You intend to press the blue button. Proceed. Press it.”

My thumb hovered over the button.

“He who hesitates,” Nueve said softly.

I pressed the blue button. The red one next to it began to low.

“You truly are extraordinary, Alfred,” he said. “In another life, you would have made a superb Superseding Protocol Agent. You are about to say you have no choice because we’ve given you no choice.”

I nodded. “You’ve given me no choice.”

“That the choice between spending the rest of your life here as our lobotomized guest and dying here, right now, is no choice at all. You would rather die.”

“That’s right. I’d rather end it now than spend the rest of my life as a vegetable.”

“And you are gambling that your death would completely disrupt our plans for you.”

“I knew you’d get it.”

His dark eyes danced. “I get everything. What would you say, Alfred, if I told you that we have more than enough samples to render your continued existence irrelevant?”

“I would say you’re bluffing,” I answered.

His right eyebrow climbed toward his hairline. “Because?”

“Because if that were true you wouldn’t have ordered them to hold their fire. You still need me. I’m not sure why exactly, but you need me, and if I push this button you won’t have me. Bottom line: if you want me, Nueve, you’re going to have to let me go.”

“That much is true, yes,” he said with a nod. “But not the issue. The issue is . . . will you do it? Can you do it? I must believe the answer to that question is yes for this to work. You understand that.”

I turned to Ashley. “Get on the chopper.”

She looked at me. She looked at Nueve. She didn’t move. I said it again: “Get on the chopper.”

She took a step toward it and Nueve’s cane whipped in the air, the six-inch dagger protruding from its base. I raised the box over my head and yelled, “Do it and I hit the button, I swear to God I will, you Spanish bastard!” and the blade froze a centimeter from her throat.

Our eyes met . . . and Nueve blinked first. He slowly lowered the cane. His eyes met Ashley’s and he gave the slightest of nods.

“Go,” I said to Ashley.

Nobody said anything as she trotted to the chopper and disappeared into the hold.

I turned back to Nueve.

“Are you familiar, Alfred,” he said, “with the law of diminishing returns?”

I backed away, keeping my eye on Nueve. The guys with the guns didn’t matter. Only Nueve mattered. With a flick of his wrist, he could signal for them to open fire. But he wasn’t going to do that. Halfway to the chopper, I realized he really was going to do it: he was going to let us go.

“There is no escape, you know,” he called to me. “No place on earth where we cannot find you. You are merely delaying the inevitable, Alfred.”

“You do what you have to do and I’ll do what I have to do,” I said.

I climbed into the hold and fell into the seat beside Ashley. I tossed the box into her lap and told her to hold it because knowing my luck I’d hit the red button by accident.

The pilot was staring at us. I twirled my index finger and the engine roared to life. A minute later we were off the ground and climbing above the treetops. I looked out the window and saw a solitary figure below, and he wasn’t so far beneath me that I couldn’t see the ironic smile playing on his lips.

HELENA REGIONAL AIRPORT

HELENA, MONTANA

01:12:49:55

I dialed the eight hundred number from a pay phone outside Captain Jack’s Bistro & Bar, the airport’s sole restaurant, while Ashley waited at a table inside. I was interrupted a couple of times by travelers asking directions. In my black jumper, I must have looked like a maintenance worker.

A lady with a foreign accent answered. “Office Directory Services, how may I direct your call?”

“Abigail Smith,” I said.

There was a pause. “Dr. Smith is not available at the moment.”

“I need to get a message to her. A very important message.”

“I could direct you to her voice mail.”

“I’ve already left her a voice mail.”

There was another, longer pause.

“Dr. Smith is currently indisposed,” the operator said.

“That’s the problem,” I said. “So am I.”

I hung up and dialed Mr. Needlemier’s number. I didn’t have any money, so I made the call collect. On my first try, he refused to accept the charges. I called right back and the operator came on the line and relayed the message that my party didn’t appreciate prank calls and if I persisted he would report me to the FCC. The third time was the charm. I told the operator my name was Samuel St. John and he accepted the call.