The Thirteenth Skull (11 page)

I grabbed his wrist and tore his hand away, and then I hit him as hard as I could in the jaw. He fell back onto his butt with a startled expression.

“Maybe that's my problem,” I snarled at him. “Maybe that's why I can't extract myself from you nutcases—I keep killing the wrong people! You knew who Jourdain Garmot was the whole time, didn't you? You knew he was Mogart's son, didn't you?”

“Does that matter?” he asked, rubbing his jaw, but somehow smiling his annoying ironic smile.

“You're damn right it matters! You knew who he was and where he was, and you could have stopped him!”

I pulled my fist back to pop him again. He scooted backward and rose to his full height.

“I am authorized to kill you if I have to,” he said.

“Really? Well, that's where I'm one up on you. I don't need anyone's authorization!” I raised the handheld rocket launcher and took dead aim at his little Spanish smile.

“Do that and you will never reach the airport alive,” he said.

“How did you find me at the warehouse?” I asked.

“We followed Vosch, of course.”

“Jourdain said they weren't followed.”

Nueve shrugged.

“What is the Thirteenth Skull?”

He stared at me, stone-faced.

“Jourdain needs it so Michael will return the gift. The gift is the Sword, isn't it? Jourdain's after Excalibur and he needs the Thirteenth Skull to get it.”

He didn't say anything. He just shrugged.

“Don't shrug,” I said. “Don't ever shrug again in front of me, understand?”

“It is only a shrug.”

“Don't change the subject either.”

“I didn't. You changed the subject.”

“Stop it. It doesn't matter who changed the subject.”

“Then why tell me not to?”

“Yes or no, you knew the whole time Jourdain was behind all this.”

“Why does it matter?”

“Because you could have stopped him!”

“Have we not done that? Are you not still alive? Have I not saved your miserable
las nalgas
more times than either of us can recall?”

“So why didn't you stop him?”

“Do you still understand so little about the Company, Alfred Kropp? We are not a private security company. We are interested in only one thing as it relates to you and that one thing is not your personal welfare. And if you fail to deliver that one thing, we shall leave you to your fate at the hands of Mogart's son.”

He brushed past me and righted the motorcycle. “Now come, you ungrateful little drag queen; they are waiting for us at the airport. I've had my fill of this godforsaken town and more than my fill of
you
.”

I climbed onto the seat behind him.

“Give back my weapon,” he said.

“I think I'll just keep it, thanks.”

He started to say something, seemed to think better of it, and then opened up the bike full throttle. I clung to his waist, closed my eyes, and hung on for dear life.

05:02:34:26

Nueve took us straight to the airport. I didn't know if any back roads existed, but I wish they did: Alcoa Highway is one of the busiest streets in Knoxville, and at every stoplight more than a few drivers stared at the big kid dressed like an old lady on the back of a mud-spattered police motorcycle. And I worried we might run into a real cop. What clever cover story could Nueve invent to explain
this
?

I closed my eyes, pressed my cheek against Nueve's back, and tried to organize my thoughts. That was an exercise I struggled with even in the best of circumstances, but I gave it a try anyway.

Mogart had a son. A son who, like me, had no idea what kind of business his father was wrapped up in until he was dead. Then somebody brings him his father's head and tells him a kid named Alfred Kropp chopped it off with the sword of the Archangel Michael. So Jourdain comes to Knoxville looking for a little payback . . . or something else called the Thirteenth Skull, because somebody promised if he got it he'd get Excalibur back . . . Or did killing me have anything to do with the Skull and Excalibur at all? But if killing me didn't have anything to do with it, why tell me about the Skull in the first place?

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.

Abby led me into another room. A girl with skin the color of copper, blond hair, and huge blue eyes was sitting on the sofa. She stood up when she saw me.

“Ashley?”

“Hi, Alfred,” she said, and then she hugged me. I smelled lilacs. I looked down and there were those enormous blue eyes looking up at me.

“They told me you'd changed,” she said.

“The dress wasn't my idea,” I said.

“I don't mean the dress.”

She stepped back—the hug had lasted about four seconds too long.

“I thought you quit,” I said.

“They made an offer I couldn't refuse.” She glanced toward Abby.

“Ashley agreed to return to the Company on the condition we assign her as your extraction coordinator.”

“Oh,” I said. “What's that mean?”

“It means Ashley is in charge of coordinating your extraction from our interface.”

I looked at Ashley. “I hate OIPEP,” I said.

She laughed. “Why don't you change, Alfred? I'll meet you outside.”

She left, a bouncing swirl of golden-haired blondness.

“Bathroom over there, clothes in the closet beside it,” Abby said. She looked at her watch. “We need to leave in the next fifteen minutes to stay within security parameters.”

She patted my arm and started to go.

“Abby, wait,” I called after her. “About Samuel.”

“Samuel?”

“You know, Op Nine . . . Samuel. Is he okay?”

“Yes, Alfred. We've moved him to a safe location.”

“Well, if I've learned anything from the past, there's no such thing.”

Abby laughed.

“I wasn't making a joke,” I said. “So he's not here.”

“There's no reason for him to be, is there?”

I thought about it. “No, I guess not. It's just, we kind of had an argument the last time I saw him. Can you let him know I'm okay—that everything's going to be okay now?”

“Of course, Alfred.”

“Who is Sofia?”

She looked at me for a second without saying anything, reminding me of Nueve's stone-faced stare at the dairy farm.

“Sofia?”

“He said she was a ghost from his past.”

She slowly shook her head. “I'm sorry, Alfred, I don't know any person named Sofia.”

“Nueve said she was the goddess of wisdom.”

Abby gave a weird little laugh. “Did he?”

“What's the Thirteenth Skull?”

“The . . . what?”

“Thirteenth Skull. Jourdain is looking for it.”

“Is he? How . . . extraordinary.”

“So you know about it?”

She nodded.

“You're about to tell me it's classified, aren't you? You've got that ‘it's classified' look.”

“I was about to tell you Jourdain is chasing a chimera if he is searching for it. The Thirteenth Skull is a myth.”

“What's the myth?”

She shook her head. “What does any of it matter now, Alfred? In a few days, none of this”—she waved to indicate the world according to OIPEP—“will be your concern. You're free now.”

She turned on her cherry-red heels and hurried from the room. I took a quick shower to wash off the mud and cow poo, found a toothbrush by the sink, and scrubbed my teeth, then yanked on a regulation black OIPEP jumper I found hanging in the closet. Using the mirror in the bathroom, I combed my hair with my fingers, thinking I probably wouldn't be combing my hair if Ashley wasn't my extraction coordinator. She had quit OIPEP after encountering sixteen million demonic fiends in the Sahara, which totally freaked her out, and I never thought I would see her again. Just my luck when I did I was wearing a dress. But I'd also lost a lot of weight and grown another inch and my hair had those funky, cool gray streaks in it and I was thinking that's what happens when you go through a big change, the old you lingers in your mind's eye, like a ghost limb of an amputee.

They were waiting for me in the outer room, Ashley, Abby, Nueve, and Mr. Needlemier. I slid into the empty seat next to Ashley and said, “I'm a guy again.”

“Smooth,” Nueve murmured.

He turned to Mr. Needlemier. “In ten minutes we depart for happier climes. The Company has agreed to extract Senor Kropp in exchange for the item stolen from Company possession.”

Mr. Needlemier nodded nervously. I thought of bobble-heads.

“So,” Nueve said, “do you have the item?”