“Alfred, I am sorry for all this. Sorry for bringing you to the nexus and sorry for lying to you.”
“Why did you bring me to the nexus?”
“You were the carrier of the active agent. We had to be prepared for any contingency.”
“You had the same idea—to use me for a bomb or something?”
He didn’t say anything. He kept staring at his reflection.
“It’s not easy, is it? Being a SPA.”
He shook his head. “No.” He started to say something else, but he decided to leave it at that, I guessed. “No.”
The CCR was parked where we’d left it at the airport. Mr. Needlemier hung back, looking a little awkward, as I carried Op Nine’s duffel and my sword to the supercharged sports car. I dropped the duffel into the passenger seat and stuck the sword into the space behind it. I went back to the Lexus.
“This is totally outside the range of my experience,” Mr. Needlemier said. Then he added, unnecessarily, “I’m frightened, Alfred.”
“Doing something helps,” I told him. “Otherwise it just eats you alive. Do you know about the secret chamber beneath Mr. Samson’s desk?”
He stared at me and didn’t say anything.
“Guess not. There’s a secret chamber under Mr. Samson’s desk. The desktop lifts up and there’s a keypad. The numbers correspond to letters just like on a telephone. The code is my name.”
“Your name?”
“I don’t remember the numbers off the top of my head, but the code is ‘Alfred.’ When you get it open, put the Vessel inside and lock it back down again. Understand?”
He nodded. “Yes, I understand. Is there anything else, Alfred?” “I don’t want to be adopted by Horace Tuttle.”
“Of course, but you understand the final decision is up to the judge.”
“And I don’t want him to be the trustee of the estate. I want you to be.”
“Me?”
“And if I don’t make it back—and I probably won’t—I want you to take all the money and give it away.”
“Give it—who do I give it to?”
“I don’t know. Find some worthy people. Start with the kids living with the Tuttles. Especially the kid named Kenny. Take care of him, Mr. Needlemier.”
“Of course.”
“I’m telling you this in case things don’t work out. Anyway, I’m talking too much. I have to go. Good-bye, Mr. Needlemier.”
Back at the CCR, I told Op Nine, “You’re driving.” I dug the old book from the duffel bag, along with a map. “I’ve got to study.”
52
“We’re taking I-75 all the way,” I told Op Nine, tracing the route with my index finger. “It goes right through Gainesville.”
I wasted about two minutes trying to refold the map. What is it about maps? Folding them is like trying to work a puzzle. I gave up and stuffed it behind my headrest. Then I opened The Ars Goetia and flipped through it, looking for the Words of Command.
Op Nine glanced over at me.
“If not spoken exactly, word for word, the command will fail,” he pointed out.
“Thanks for the tip,” I muttered. “There’s about twenty different incantations here. Which one do I use?”