“The Charter is explicit in regards to—”
“Oh, don’t quote the Charter to me, Padre,” Mike said. “This is bigger than the Charter.”
“Your termination was a hoax, wasn’t it?”
Mike looked away. Op Nine didn’t seem to care.
“What was the director’s intent, Michael?”
“In a word? World peace. Oops. That’s two words.”
“The director went outside the Charter, did he not? He arranged your phony termination, the extraction of the Great Seals from our Vaults . . . He wanted you to free the outcasts in order to—what?”
“You’re the SPA. Isn’t it as plain as the boils on Al’s face?”
“Blackmail? The director would use the fallen to enforce world peace?”
“It’s beautiful, doncha think?” Mike said. “Once we made our little demonstration in the desert, who’s gonna have the guts to challenge the Company’s new world order? No more petty dictators or rogue states mucking around with peace and security. Somebody breaks the rules, we break the Seal. Perfect. Or at least it was on paper. Of course, we never considered the Kropp factor.” He looked at me. “One day I’m gonna kill you, Al, swear to God.”
“OIPEP wants to take over the world?” I asked.
Op Nine shook his head. “Not OIPEP, Alfred. Merryweather. It seems our director has decided to throw the Charter out the window. We have been duped.”
“That’s okay,” I said. “I’m getting used to it.” I turned to Mike. “So that’s why you tried to kill me? Merryweather knew about my blood and he was afraid it might be used to fight the demons?”
“Of course he knew,” Op Nine said. “It was contained in your dossier. After Mike ‘stole’ the Seals, I gave the order for Ashley to extract you. I did not know for certain, but I hoped your . . . gift might be useful in the 3XD. Therefore Merryweather needed Mike to extract you first.”
“In an extreme way,” I said. I started for the door.
Op Nine said, “Wait, Alfred.”
“We’re almost out of time,” I said. “We have only two hours to get to Florida.”
“I’m not sure that is entirely wise,” Op Nine said.
“We don’t have
a choice,” I shot back. “They’ll consume us if we don’t go.”
“But if we go, there is nothing to stop them from consuming us.”
“Well, that’s been the problem all along, hasn’t it?”
“Game’s over,” Mike said. “There’s no way out.”
“I might be able to help,” Mr. Needlemier said. “But nobody has bothered to tell me exactly what is going on with these Seals . . . and who this OIPEP is . . . and what these demons are . . . and . . . and et cetera . . .”
We ignored him.
“Look, Op Nine,” I said. “It’s just the two of us, and I was given a deadline in Chicago with the clear understanding that if I miss it, there’s gonna be hell to pay—literally. I guess I made what you call a deal with the devil—more like sixteen million of them—but it was either that or lose all hope and that’s about all that we have left.”
Mike laughed. “What about your health, Al? Oh. Never mind.”
“Where’s that tire iron?” I asked Mr. Needlemier.
“Alfred, you do not understand them as I do,” Op Nine said. “You cannot presume they operate in good faith.”
“No, I’m presuming they’re going to keep eating me until I’m used up. Not dead. I’m already dead. I’m the walking dead, Samuel—that’s the message of the maggots. It’s already too late for me, but maybe it’s not too late for the world.”