“The ‘Nine’ doesn’t refer to a sequential number.”
“I’m no math whiz, but I thought nine was a sequential number.”
“It refers to a section of the OIPEP Charter.”
“Lemme guess. Section Nine.”
He nodded. I asked, “So what is Section Nine?”
“I can’t tell you that.”
“And if you did . . .”
“I would have to kill you.”
“I think we’re really bonding here. Establishing a rapport. Have you ever had to? Kill somebody, I mean.”
“Only once. In Abkhazia.”
“Abkhazia. Ashley mentioned you were in Abkhazia.
What happened in Abkhazia—or can’t you tell me that either?” “I shouldn’t tell you.”
“It’s classified?”
“It’s painful.”
“Well, maybe you should tell me to get it off your chest. You know, to help with the bonding, since we’re partners now and everything.”
“I do not need it off my chest.”
“ ‘And we’re not partners.’ You were about to say that.”
“I was about to say Abkhazia is something you may want to hear now but would regret hearing afterward.”
“I can take it,” I said. “I’m tougher than I look.”
“Oh, you are many more things than how you appear, Alfred Kropp.”
“You’re talking about the whole Lancelot thing, I guess, and the fact that Bernard Samson is my dad. But the thing with that is it’s not anything I did. I mean, it didn’t require anything special on my part.”
He leaned his head back and closed his eyes. His eyelids were the color of charcoal. He must have been one of the homeliest people I had ever seen, with those long flappy earlobes, the droopy cheeks, and raccoon eyes that reminded me so much of a hound dog. But you shouldn’t judge people by appearances—the credo I lived by.
“Padre,” I said softly. Then louder: “Back in the desert, you blessed us with holy water and later on Mike called you ‘Padre’ . . .”
His eyes stayed closed. “I was a priest—once.”
“What happened?”
“My particular theological views made the church uncomfortable.”
“I guess they would,” I said. “I mean, not even the church buys into demons these days, does it?”
He didn’t answer. So I went on. “So that’s the deal with the holy water and all the Latin and praying. I haven’t been to church since my mom died. You think that’s part of it, Op Nine . . . um, Father?”
“Do not call me that, Kropp.”
“Well, what do I call you then?”